The tournament was winding down when there was a sudden stir. The very earth seemed to shake and the sound of two arms slapping against each other echoed through the arena like a thunder clap. Gandhari frowned. ‘Who is that entering the arena, Kunti?’
Kunti’s voice faltered. ‘He is a mighty warrior. He is radiant, as brightly golden as the sun. His shoulders and chest are massive. He is wearing a natural golden armour and earrings – just like –’ with that, Kunti gasped sharply and collapsed onto the ground with a small cry. Vidura rushed to revive her and she was soon swarmed by attendants who brought her back to consciousness. She insisted she was fine and the others went back to their seats.
But Gandhari was frozen still. She knew that cry. It was the cry of a mother, a mother who had lost a child and found it alive again, as she had when Duryodhana was finally born. Gandhari frowned behind her blindfold. Could it be? This mighty warrior who seemed so godlike? Could he possibly be a son of Kunti?
The mysterious warrior cried out, ‘O Arjuna! Don’t be too smug about your skills. I will perform feats that will surpass everything that you have done.’ Karna proceeded to repeat Arjuna’s demonstrations with aplomb. Kunti was still in too much shock to speak, so it was a maid who whispered into Gandhari’s ears. But Gandhari could hear it for herself, in the eager applause that met Karna’s every move, in the encouraging shouts coming his way from Duryodhana. After he finished, Duryodhana ran to his side to embrace him and formally welcome him to the tournament. He professed admiration for Karna’s prowess and asked what he could do to honour him properly. Karna said starkly that he only wished for Duryodhana’s friendship and the opportunity to duel with Arjuna.
Kripa, the other preceptor of the Kauravas, interrupted to ask, ‘Karna, we have already announced Arjuna as befits the occasion, with a complete presentation of his ancestry, lineage and titles. You must now do the same – tell us who is your mother, your father, what is your lineage, to which royal dynasty do you belong? Only then could Arjuna deign to decide whether he wishes to fight you – or not.’
Gandhari inhaled sharply. The veiled insult was obvious. Sons of kings did not fight with those of an inferior lineage. Kripa was calling Karna low-born.
Despite her own misgivings about Karna (and, in particular, his connection with Kunti), Gandhari felt a stirring of sympathy for him. To be so valiant, so talented, and yet spurned for one’s birth. It struck a chord of indignation within Gandhari.
Karna sighed and looked upwards at the sun bitterly. The maid sniggered as she relayed this, as if it were an odd thing to do. It struck Gandhari, though, and she suspected what she later learned to be true, that he was indeed the son of Suryadeva, the god of the sun. His whole life, not knowing he was the son of Suryadeva, nevertheless something attracted him towards the worship of the sun and he had spent hours each day, worshipping the sun, standing on one foot, with his head and arms flung upwards, until the skin peeled off his back from sunburn. And the sun, too, was partial to this magnificent warrior. Even now, it shone proudly upon him. Gandhari could feel the strong rays striking against her blindfold.
It was Duryodhana who interceded. His voice was hot as he retorted, ‘It is stated in the sacred texts that there are three ways to become a king – through noble birth, through valour and through leading an army. If Arjuna is unwilling to fight with someone who is not a king, I will immediately crown Karna the king of Anga.’
And just like that her impulsive son had Karna coronated on the spot, then and there, in the arena itself. Usually Gandhari was vexed by her son’s impulsiveness, but on this day, she was proud. Yes, she knew he was goaded by the desire to humiliate Arjuna, to befriend the only person capable of defeating him, but part of her wanted to believe that he did this for a nobler purpose as well.
Karna, overcome by Duryodhana’s gesture, asked, ‘What can I give you that is comparable to the gift that you have given me? Tell me and I shall do as you wish.’ There was in his voice a hint of servility that saddened Gandhari, the sound of one dependent on pleasing others higher in station.
Duryodhana replied, ‘I wish for your eternal friendship.’
Bhima jeered at Karna, ‘O son of a charioteer! You don’t have the right to be killed by Arjuna in battle. You should hold a whip, not a bow, more in fitting with being the son of a charioteer. O worst of men! You have no right to enjoy a kingdom.’
It was Duryodhana who spoke: ‘Strength is the most important virtue of Kshatriyas and even the most inferior of Kshatriyas deserves to be fought with. The sources of warriors and rivers are both always unknown and not to be investigated. It is said that the birth of the illustrious god Guha is a complete mystery. Our preceptor was born in a water pot, Kripa in a clump of reeds. And we also know how all of you were born. Can a deer give birth to this tiger, equal to the sun, with natural armour and earrings? He deserves to be king, not only of Anga but of the entire world, through the valour of his arms and my obedience to him. If there is any man to whom my action seems condemnable, let him fight me.’ The crowd erupted in a mix of howls and cheers.
The sun set before the anticipated duel could begin in earnest. Perhaps it was the work of Suryadeva, intent on protecting his son. The tournament drew to a close and everyone left the arena happy, except for Gandhari. The Pandavas and their teachers were pleased at their strong demonstration of prowess; Duryodhana and his brothers were happy with the entry of Karna; the teachers were proud of their students; and even Kunti was happy to know that her long-lost son was now a king, however uneasy she may have been otherwise. But dread and worry gnawed at Gandhari. Only she knew how reckless and dangerous her son Duryodhana would be now that the chance of victory had crept into his hand, from the very brother of the enemies he wished to defeat.
It was said that there was no such thing as a bad mother, only a bad son. Gandhari had believed that once. Once, she had imagined that she was a good mother. She had borne her hundred sons in her womb for longer than a year, suffering through the most excruciating pregnancy. And for one more year she had nursed them, protected them as they grew in their pots. She had clutched back from death her eldest son when they had wanted to take him away, to kill him, to keep him away, to quarantine them from him. She had cooked for them and fed them and nourished them with her own blood and marrow as they grew inside her, that cancerous mass of flesh that had devoured her from within.
She thought she had taught them well. Always they were obedient to her, as unruly and incorrigible as they were with others, they disciplined themselves in front of her, listened patiently as she read to them, endured her caresses and good night kisses. When her head ached and the blindfold irritated her, they soothed her with their fingers.
Yes, they hounded their cousins, the sons of Pandu; yes, they attempted murder; yes, they exiled and taunted and oppressed the sons of Pandu until the Pandavas were forced to build a separate kingdom in the wilderness into which Duryodhana had forced them. But such was politics. Such was the life of royalty. Kill or be killed. Why should her sons have suffered, why should they have been held back, just because their father had been blind?
And the people did not complain about Duryodhana’s reign. He was an able administrator. He was generous in opening up the coffers of the treasury for the delights and entertainment of the subjects of Hastinapur. No one clamoured for Yudhishthira, who was now ruling over Indraprastha, the neighbouring kingdom, partitioned from the Kuru territories and given to the Pandavas by Dhritarashthra as a veiled banishment, to take over the throne from him. Things had perhaps reached an unsteady truce, unsteady yet sustainable still. That was what she told herself.
But it was not to be. Not while Shakuni still bayed for blood. Not while Duryodhana chafed with jealousy at whatever Yudhishthira possessed – if Duryodhana had all the heavens and Yudhishthira owned a swamp, gladly would her son have divested himself of the heavens to greedily claim the swamp. And not while Karna, the unacknowledged son of Kunti, the loyal friend to Duryodh
ana, goaded him on, determined to help her son have everything he wanted and demolish his half-brothers (whom he did not yet know were his half-brothers) who gave Duryodhana such grief. All that was needed was a spark to kindle the fire that would burn everything down.
It was the wife of the Pandavas who provided that spark: Draupadi, who had unconventionally become wife to all five of the brothers through a trick of fate, after her hand had been won by Arjuna. She was the most beautiful, intelligent, brave, strong and desired woman in all of Bharat. She was born of fire and she was the colour of soot, her beauty so stunning that there was not a man in the kingdom who did not want her for his wife. She was fiercely loyal to her husbands, quick witted and sharp-tongued. She was also fearless – a lethal combination.
It had been a simple thing. Duryodhana had tripped and fallen into a pool, an illusory body of water created by the divine architect, Mayasura. Draupadi had seen this and had laughed at him scornfully. This slight was too much for Duryodhana to bear. For weeks afterward, he stewed and simmered in unquenchable rage. He closeted himself with Shakuni and Karna, plotting revenge amongst themselves.
That was how it started. That day of infamy, the day of the gambling match, the day that saw Shakuni’s ambitions realized, the fate of the Kauravas, her husband and her sons, sealed into doom. Against the counsel of Vidura and others, Dhritarashthra consented to Duryodhana’s request that the Pandavas be invited for a gambling match. He commanded the construction of an elaborate assembly-hall with crystal towers, filled with gems and beautiful sculptures that he could not see. Yudhishthira was reluctant to agree to the match, but the truth was, he was secretly addicted to the game of dice. It was his one vice. He agreed to the match.
A large assembly of royalty from all over the realm appeared, eager to watch this strange gathering. Yudhishthira played on behalf of the Pandavas and Duryodhana appointed Shakuni to play for the Kauravas.
And then the game began.
Yudhishthira made the first stake, announcing to Duryodhana, ‘O king! This is a beautiful chain of gems, ornamented with gold. This is my stake. What is your counter-stake?’
Duryodhana replied indifferently, ‘I also possess many gems and riches. But they serve no particular use for me. I will win this gamble.’
Shakuni rolled the dice. And Shakuni announced, ‘I have won.’
Yudhishthira grew indignant and suspicious. ‘You have won this gamble through deceit! Let us now play a thousand times. I have a hundred jars, each filled with a thousand coins. And then my treasury has inexhaustible gold. Let this be my stake.’
Gandhari heard in Yudhishthira’s voice the rash impulsiveness that had once characterized Pandu. Her heart pounded. Despite herself, she was anxious for him.
Shakuni replied, with another throw of the dice, ‘I have won.’
Yudhishthira said, ‘My royal chariot is covered with tiger skin. It is adorned with nets of bells. This sacred chariot roars like the clouds and the ocean. It is drawn by eight horses that are famous throughout the kingdom. O king! These are my riches that I now gamble for with you.’
Shakuni threw the dice and calmly said, ‘I have won.’
Yudhishthira’s words grew louder and more desperate. ‘O Saubala, the son of Subala! I have one thousand elephants that are in musk. They are adorned with golden girdles and golden garlands. O king! These are my riches that I now gamble for with you.’
Shakuni laughed and said, ‘I have won.’
Yudhishthira did not hesitate. ‘I have one hundred thousand slave girls. They are young and extremely beautiful. They are skilled in singing and dancing. O king! These are my riches that I now gamble for with you.’
The warm air of the assembly-hall tightened into tension, like a bow being drawn. It was one thing to gamble possessions, another to gamble people.
Shakuni threw the dice. Gandhari wondered if these were the same dice she had seen in his chamber earlier, the misshapen, odd ones, the ones he said were made of their father’s bones. She shivered. Maybe Yudhishthira was right – even if not cheating, Shakuni may have worked black magic into the dice, tricking them to respond to his call, like a snake to a charmer. He said, ‘I have won.’
Yudhishthira’s voice grew high in pitch. ‘I have thousands of male salves. They are wise, young, intelligent and wear polished earrings. With plates in their hands, they feed the guests day and night. O king! These are my riches that I now gamble for with you.’
Shakuni said, ‘I have won.’
Gandhari’s fists curled into her sari. Kunti was sitting next to her. As Vidura relayed the unfolding of the events to Dhritarashthra, Kunti did the same for Gandhari. But now Kunti was wordless.
Yudhishthira staked in succession his chariots, his prized horses, treasure chests made of copper and iron, each filled with beaten gold. Each time, Shakuni threw the dice and said, ‘I have won.’
It was then that Vidura leaned over to Dhritarashthra and whispered urgently, in a voice deliberately loud enough to carry over to Gandhari, ‘O king! Duryodhana is gambling with the Pandavas and you are pleased, thinking that he is winning, but what you do not see is that this small victory is leading to the disaster that will be the end of you and your line, a war that will lead to the destruction of all men. As Shukracharya had said, as I have told you the day that your son was born, “For the sake of a family, a man should be sacrificed. For the sake of a village, a family should be sacrificed. For the sake of a country, a village should be sacrificed. For the sake of the soul, the earth itself should be sacrificed.” At least now abandon his cause, before it is too late. Make friends with Yudhishthira. The Pandavas will make peace with you, will treat you honourably and well.
‘A terrible fire has blazed forth, yet you can extinguish it still, you can extinguish it now before it is too late. The one from the mountains, this Shakuni, knows how to cheat with the dice. O king! Let Shakuni go back home. He is fighting with black magic. He is casting his spell upon the dice, as he has on you and your family.’ Vidura’s voice was severe.
A cold shudder rippled down Gandhari’s spine. Out of everyone in Hastinapur, it was Vidura she trusted. His scorn for Shakuni was like a dousing of cold water upon a flame of niggling doubt that Shakuni had lit that night, with his taunting accusations of their family’s murder. The clarity of Vidura’s voice, the depth of conviction, made her realize now that indeed Shakuni’s words had been a lie. There had been no kidnapping, no murder of her family by her husband or by Bhishma. He had used those tricks of maya on her as he now wielded it on the Pandavas. She had been fooled, trapped by her own doubt and dark thoughts. She had let him go, had passively stood by as he had brainwashed her children, caught in the doubt that he was the only one from their family to survive, that he was the only link her children had to her family, that he was the one who could protect them and their interests.
But had he ever cared truly for her sons? No, they were just pawns in his endless game of dice – he played them as he played the dice. It did not matter if they bore the blood of Shakuni and of his sister; for him, they were contaminated by the blood of Dhritarashthra and for that he would destroy them as he intended to destroy all of the Kurus. Maybe he had grown so mad that he really did believe they had killed their family. Maybe it was revenge. Maybe he had just been bored.
She had yielded to him in doubt and insecurity, hedging her bets with the Kurus by keeping him around. What a fool she had been! Where she should have been the strong queen, stern and resolute, she had been weak and mired by doubt, giving him the entry to poison her family against their own good.
Duryodhana scornfully mocked Vidura and dismissed him, saying, ‘One should not give shelter to someone who hates them and belongs to the enemy. O Vidura! Go wherever you wish. However well treated, an unchaste wife will always leave. We have done enough for you.’
Gandhari bristled at how insultingly he spoke to his uncle, who had always been so wise, gentle and kind, so devoted to the welfare of the family.
With a dry throat, she remembered how Satyavati had admonished her to always take his counsel. And she had not.
Vidura fell silent, helpless.
Shakuni resumed with a chuckle. ‘O Yudhishthira! You have lost the great riches of the Pandavas. Do you have anything left to lose?’
Yudhishthira took umbrage at the insult and replied, ‘O, son of Subala! I know of unlimited riches that I possess. Why even ask me about my wealth?’ He proceeded to stake his cattle, horses, sheep and goats.
Shakuni said, ‘I have won.’
Yudhishthira then staked his city, his country, the land of his subjects.
Shakuni said, ‘I have won.’
Yudhishthira pointed to his brothers – Kunti was so aghast, she could not report to Gandhari anymore. This Gandhari heard from a servant. Yudhishthira said, ‘O king! These princes are resplendent in their ornaments, their earrings, the golden decorations on their chest. O king! These are my riches that I will play for with you.’
A terrible silence descended in the assembly-hall.
But there was no hesitation in Yudhishthira’s voice as he said, ‘This dark youth with red eyes, long arms and the shoulders of a lion, is Nakula. I stake him.’ Nakula was one of the twin sons of Madri.
Shakuni chuckled and said brightly, ‘O king! But Prince Nakula is dear to you. If you lose him, what will you have left to stake?’ But he did not wait for a reply as he threw the dice and announced, ‘I have won.’
Yudhishthira’s voice grew thick with emotion and self-remonstration as he said, ‘This Sahadeva is the one who administers dharma. He is renowned as a learned one in all the worlds. He is the one who maintains our sacrificial fire. He does not deserve it, but I will stake this beloved prince with one who is not loved.’ That was as close to cruelty as Yudhishthira’s voice could muster.
The Curse of Gandhari Page 20