AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2)

by Anand Neelakantan

  As he watched Arjuna’s fading figure, the elation Ekalavya felt was overwhelming. This was the moment he had lived for. He had finally beaten Arjuna, the great Pandava! Arjuna, the favourite of Guru Drona! An untouchable had achieved the impossible. Perhaps Arjuna was right and he was no ordinary mortal. He was Shiva, the God of Gods. Despite himself, his feet started moving. The forest fire raged around him. He could hear the beat of a dumru and feel the flames on his body. ‘I am the Creator, I am the Preserver, and I am the Destroyer. I am SHIVA..’ The Nishada danced the tandav as if the end of the world was at hand.

  In the palace Lakshmana waited for Ekalavya to come, while evil eyes devoured her youth and beauty.

  *****

  32 THE STALKER

  WHY WOULD HER FATHER NOT LISTEN? Lakshmana had tried speaking to him as he sat alone in the Sabha, but Suyodhana had ordered her away. She had run out stifling a sob. He had never behaved with her in that manner before. But he had to know the truth. Perhaps it would be better to wait until morning when his anger would have cooled. Then she would explain everything. Her brother was innocent; he was being framed.

  Lakshmana and her mother had dragged Lakshmana Kumara to his room. His cheek was still bleeding from the slap he had received from their father. How could Suyodhana be so cruel? Kumara was reluctant to talk. It took a lot of cajoling for him to open up.

  That evening, when everyone was at their prayers, Abhimanyu had whispered into Kumara’s ear that Valsala wished to meet him. Enamoured and besotted, he had gone to the tryst. He found her in a playful mood and she had invited him into her room. Once he was inside, she had slipped out and locked the door from the outside. He had shouted out to her but had been thrown onto the bed by strong hands. A dark man had pinned him down. The next thing he remembered was Balarama standing at the door glaring at them. There were many others behind him. The man who had pinned him to the bed, grinned, planted a kiss on both his cheeks and then jumped out through the window. Despite Kumara’s protests, Balarama had dragged him to the Sabha.

  Abhimanyu’s betrayal wounded Kumara more than anything else. Lakshmana insisted they discuss it with their father but her brother would not listen. Why did her father dislike Kumara so much? When she walked back to her chamber, the night had almost gone. She entered and threw her gold-embroidered upper garment onto a chair and got into bed. But sleep did not cast its merciful mantle over her even when her tired head touched her pillow. She tossed from side to side in her bed. Why did she suddenly feel afraid? Rising, she looked around her as she took the upper garment from the chair where she had cast it, and wrapped herself in it. Was someone watching her? She was afraid to close her eyes. She missed her godfather, Ekalavya. Why had he not come? She had written to him about her fears, yet he had not come. Neither the Nishada nor the Princess were aware how grevious would prove the cost of that delay.

  ***

  Samba had been waiting in the shadows for hours for the sweet little thing to return to her chamber. He pressed further into the shadows as he saw her come. How beautiful she was! He heard her tossing about on her bed and waited impatiently for her to fall asleep. When the only sound he heard was that of the crickets in the garden, he tiptoed towards the door, making sure no one was around to see him enter. He had been stalking this girl from Dwaraka. When he had laid eyes on her a few months ago at the Yadava palace, he had decided he had to have her at any cost. For several days he had followed her, his fantasies running wild, his eyes roving over her beautiful body, imagining her in his arms. He had discovered that she was the daughter of the Crown Prince of a Northern territory and that her father was an evil but powerful man, according to rumours. Now, having seen the great city of Hastinapura, he realised she was a good catch as well. Samba was uninterested in politics. His father was considered to be an avatar of Vishnu. He chuckled at the thought. Who would dare challenge the son of a God?

  Samba had seen Krishna entering Balarama’s room. The marriage had been called off because the groom preferred boys. Samba felt like laughing. His father would even now be in his uncle’s room, discussing Valsala’s future. Everyone knew she was sweet on his cousin, Abhimanyu, but still they had wanted her to marry Suyodhana’s queer son. Politics! Perhaps his uncle would permit Valsala to marry Abhimanyu now. Balarama had to save face. Somewhere in the whole episode was his father’s hand.

  Krishna had become intolerant of late. There had been no need for Krishna to slap and shout at him the night he had casually groped this cute little thing. In some corner of his mind, Samba feared his father’s patience would snap one day and there would be hell to pay. But he had worked out a way to keep his father in check. His mother, Jambavati, was a Vanara woman of the Jamabavan tribe. His father felt guilty that his other wives did not treat the Vanara woman well. Samba had grown up watching his mother fight bitter battles with Krishna’s other wives. They called her monkey-woman and him a monkey-child. His father tried to compensate by being more gentle and kind with them both.

  Samba grew up to be wild and uncontrollable. Though just twenty, he was an alcoholic and indulged in rampant promiscuous behaviour. When charm did not work, he did not hesitate to use force. Few women dared resist him because he was as ruthless as he was vengeful. Though soma and excessive indulgence had started taking their toll on him, he had inherited his father’s powerful physique and charm. He was generous with money and trinkets. Each time he got into trouble, his father bailed him out, hushing up the incident. Every time it ended the same way, with his father shouting and threatening. Samba would act repentant and beg his father’s forgiveness. His mother would join in pleading with Krishna. If nothing else worked, his mother would use her usual weapon, saying Krishna was being cruel to them because they were Vanara. That usually ended with his helpless father forgiving him.

  Samba knew he had to keep away from his Uncle Balarama. Twice, the old man had ordered him to be whipped in public. He had escaped both times because his father had pleaded with the Yadava King. He was going to take his revenge on the old man one day. For now, he had no other thought except that he wanted this beautiful girl. Groping her mango-shaped breast had only served to inflame his lust. Though she had cried and made a scene, he was sure she had enjoyed his touch. Girls were like that, he thought, creating a fuss when someone gave them what they ached for.

  Samba took out his knife and looked around again. No one was around. Perfect. Without a sound he inserted the knife into the gap between the door panels. He had to work the bolt with care but he had done it often it enough, with other women. They would act shocked at first but before long they would be enjoying it as much as he did. Which woman could resist a handsome man like him?

  Her perfume maddened him. He could imagine his hands all over her. Samba tried to find the bolt with the sharp edge of his knife. To his surprise the door swung open soundlessly. Ah, there she was, lying on the bed with her eyes closed, her body so inviting. He was sure she had left the door unlocked in anticipation. He knew women. He hoped whatever darned business Krishna had with his uncle, would keep him away the whole night. Samba bolted the door. Biting his lip he walked towards Suyodhana’s daughter.

  *****

  33 VENGEANCE

  EKALAVYA WAS ANNOYED AT HIMSELF. He had wasted precious time indulging in self-congratulation. Enough of playing God. His horse had run away from the forest fire and he had spent half a day searching for it. The Nishada was worried about his god-daughter. By the time he reached the outskirts of Hastinapura, his horse was frothing at the mouth and on the verge of collapse. The streetlights were being lit as he entered the city gates.

  Something was amiss. The colourful streamers and festoons still hung in the streets but the sense of festivity was missing. The city looked almost empty. An alarming silence prevailed. What had happened? Ekalavya could feel his heart thudding in his chest. People moved away when they saw him riding towards the palace. He tried asking a few pedestrians about the marriage of the Prince but the answers h
e received were vague. The marriage had been called off for some reason and the Yadavas had left for Dwaraka a few hours earlier.

  As Ekalavya entered the fort, Karna’s chariot rattled past with a band of soldiers following. Ekalavya called out to him but Karna did not stop. He and his soldiers disappeared in a cloud of dust. Another group of soldiers appeared, led by Aswathama. This time, Ekalavya blocked their path.

  “Get out of my way,” Aswathama shouted, trying to control his restive mount.

  “What has happened? Why was the marriage called off?” Ekalavya asked his friend.

  “You don’t know? Move away. Suyodhana’s daughter is missing.”

  “What?”

  “She was last seen by her mother and brother in the early hours. We fear the worst. Perhaps the girl has eloped with her lover. Poor Suyodhana. Yesterday his son shamed him before the whole world, and today it is his daughter.”

  “Aswathama, don’t talk such nonsense about my Princess!” Ekalavya’s hands were shaking, his throat felt scorched and dry. ‘Oh, Shiva! I have failed my daughter. If only I had not squandered my time playing God.’ With a shaking hand he wiped the sweat from his brow. Where could she be? In her letter she had said someone was stalking her.

  “I have no time to argue. Everyone is searching for her. It’s a scandal.”

  “Why was the marriage called off?” Ekalavya wanted to know.

  “Apparently Suyodhana’s son prefers boys. What a shame! And now his daughter is missing.”

  “She has not eloped. Someone was stalking her.”

  “What? Why didn’t she tell her father? Who could kidnap her from the palace?”

  “I got a letter yesterday. She wrote it at least three or four days before but only sent it when the Yadavas arrived. Now we know where to look for her.”

  “If it was indeed a Yadava, then it isn’t going to be easy rescuing her. She might have met him at Dwaraka and fallen in love. If we make a mistake, it will mean battle with the Yadavas,” Aswathama warned.

  “Battle! Brahmin, my daughter’s honour is at stake. She has not absconded with anyone. You and your politics! Let me go in search of Lakshmana. If I start a war, so be it. I will hunt down the bastard who dared touch my daughter. I don’t care whether he is a Yadava, a Gandharva or God.”

  Ekalavya did not wait to hear the Brahmin’s objections. He had to drag whoever had harmed his Princess to Hastinapura and then tear him limb from limb. The Nishada galloped off along the royal highway towards Dwaraka, hoping against hope that he was not too late, that he would find Lakshmana before the devil had... no, he could not bear to even think about it.

  *****

  34 VANARAPUTRA

  “FOOL! DO YOU EVEN KNOW what you have done?” Krishna was furious.

  Samba chewed on a blade of grass nonchalantly while Jambavati stood between her angry husband and her unrepentant son.

  “What is there to be so angry about, Father? I liked the girl so I took her. Have you not done the same in your youth?” Samba retorted.

  “How dare you speak to me this way?”

  “You have 16,008 wives and you are giving me advice?” Samba shook with laughter.

  “Samba, apologise to your father. Beg for mercy,” Jambavati said quickly before Krishna could react.

  When Krishna had killed the Narakasura years before, he had freed 16,000 women from the harem. The priests had ordered that, as widows, the women had to commit sati. As an act of compassion, Krishna had brought them to Dwaraka to save them from such a horrible fate. Except for eight, the others were his wives only in the sense that he had given them protection. How dared Samba use it to justify his own loathsome actions?

  “Jambavati, move away. This brute does not deserve to live.” Krishna moved threateningly towards his son.

  Jambavati, arms outstretched, pleaded with tears in her eyes. “Prabhu, forgive him. He is your son.”

  “Do you see any remorse for what he has done, Jambavati? He has no conscience or feelings of guilt. What have you done with the girl?”

  “Oh, I left her in the forest. I had a good time. When I left, she was feigning sleep. Don’t I know these girls…” Samba said with a leer.

  “Fool! Do you think Duryodhana will remain silent? Do you think your Uncle Balarama will let you go free? If my brother decides to behead you, I will be there to cheer him on. Jambavati, stop bawling. I must kill this viper.” So saying, Krishna whipped out his disc.

  “You do what you must, Prabhu. Behead him with your own hands. After all, we are mere Vanaras. It is my fate that my husband is going to kill our only son. Kill me too, Prabhu,” Jambavati cried.

  Krishna watched helplessly as his wife beat her breasts and wailed in a loud voice. His other wives stood at the door, agog with curiosity. Krishna burned with shame at this public humiliation. His son would certainly bring death and disaster to the tribe. Samba had manipulated him again. Oh, the indignity of falling at Duryodhana’s feet, thought Krishna. What had he done to deserve such a son?

  “Your son has only one way to save his head,” Krishna said, his voice faltering as he saw the smile on his son’s lips. “He must marry Duryodhana’s daughter.”

  “Why, when I have already enjoyed her?”

  Krishna pushed away Jambavati’s restraining arms and caught Samba by the neck. The youngster was no match for his father. Krishna pressed the sharp edge of his disc on his son’s throat and hissed, “You are worse than any Rakshasa I have ever slain.”

  At last Samba’s eyes went wide with fear. “Forgive me, Father. I will do as you say. I will marry her. Save me from my Uncle Balarama and Prince Duryodhana. I will obey you, Father.”

  His son was quaking in fear. Coward! Disgusted, Krishna threw Samba to the floor. He grabbed his father’s legs, weeping. Jambavati fell at Krishna’s feet, pleading for her son’s life. Finally, Krishna’s clenched fist relaxed. He curtly told mother and son to rise from the floor and stop their wailing. He had no idea how he would avoid a conflict with Duryodhana. This was not the time for battle, not with the Pandavas away. He would lose face by begging Duryodhana, but there was no other way.

  “Stay here. Let me talk to Balarama.” With a heavy heart, Krishna left the chamber. Had he paused a moment to listen, he could perhaps have saved the Yadavas and their city from total annihilation.

  The moment Krishna left, Samba said to his mother, “My father and his empty threats! Why should I marry that girl? What wrong have I done? She was asking for it... the way she dressed, the way she danced... I will stay away from him for a few days. Send me word when his anger subsides.”

  Samba vanished into the night without waiting for his mother’s reply.

  *****

  35 THE WRETCHED

  PAIN. SHE COULD SMELL BLOOD, smell the dryness of the earth on which she lay. She could smell him on her and gagged. It hurt where he had hit her. She bit her swollen lips and moaned. Her tears had dried up long ago. She heard the sound of hooves getting closer. Someone was coming in search of her. She wanted to crawl behind the nearest bush and die there. She tried to get up, to cover her shame with her hands, and drag herself from the world’s unforgiving gaze. ‘No one should see me like this,’ Lakshmana whimpered. ‘I want to die. I want to die before anyone gets here and sees my shame.’

  Someone covered her with a shawl. She seized it, covering even her fingertips. Karna’s face was set in a grim mask as he lifted up her shuddering body. ‘Oh, he knows I am dirty,’ Lakshmana sobbed silently as she buried her face in Karna’s chest. The cold touch of his armour was somehow soothing. He lowered her onto the chariot floor and she lay there, coiled into a ball. Thankfully, he did not ask any questions. The chariot turned towards Hastinapura. How would she ever face her parents, her brother, the world?

  When the chariot finally slowed and halted, Lakshmana heard a familiar voice. Uncle Ekalavya! Her heart leapt joyfully before sorrow overwhelmed her again. How could she even look at him?

  There was a brie
f argument between Karna and Ekalavya. Lakshmana trembled when a hand touched her shoulder. “My Princess...forgive me...” Ekalavya’s voice was hoarse with pain.

  Lakshmana’s tears broke like a summer flood. “You are too late.”

  Then came the question she feared the most. “Who did this to you?”

  The name was cursed! But Ekalavya would not leave her alone. He put his arm around her shoulder gently and lifted her chin with his other hand. “Princess…tell me who did this to you.”

  Lakshmana looked away and whispered, “Samba, son of Krishna.”

  Ekalavya stood up and drew his sword. Through her sobs she could just hear him say, “Princess, you will have him before sunrise.” And he was gone.

  ‘Don’t go! Do not leave me alone!’ Her plea remained unspoken, except in her aching heart.

  The chariot started moving again, travelling towards her father’s palace. Lakshmana murmured a prayer. Ekalavya had gone in search of Krishna’s rogue son. She was afraid to even think of the consequences, whether he succeeded or failed. She chewed on the fringe of her shawl, her hands shaking as if she were afflicted with palsy. ‘Oh, Shiva, let me die!’ Lakshmana shut her eyes, trying to shake off the image of the leering Samba from her mind. She tried not to imagine what awaited Ekalavya as he galloped towards Dwaraka.

  Why had the chariot stopped? A blood-chilling howl filled the air. It rose and ebbed and then rose again. Terrified, Lakshmana opened her eyes. A beggar was dragging a dog from their path. Karna held the reins and waited, trying not to let the compassion he felt overcome him. But even as the chariot drove on, leaving the beggar and his dog far behind, the agonised howling refused to fade away.