‘This is a fine time for resting. There will be plenty of time for you to relax in comfort after we have despatched you to the abode of Yama, where you can join the accursed souls of your brothers!’ yelled Yudhishthira in fury.
‘I have no desire to fight. As you have kindly informed me, I have lost all my loved ones and I care not for the Kingdom and you are welcome to take it. It is yours to do with as you please. For my part, I shall wander these forests and pursue asceticism.’ Duryodhana’s tone was infuriatingly calm and reasonable, as though he were talking to a particularly obdurate child.
‘The crushing defeat we have inflicted on you seems to have left your arrogance unaffected! How dare you presume to give me something I have already won, as if I am a beggar seeking alms! Stop your incessant prattle and come out! Steeped in ignominy as you are, I am surprised you are not utilising this chance to redeem what is left of your honour,’ said Yudhishthira with withering scorn.
‘How can I fight when I have nothing left to fight with? My loved ones are gone, my armies have been vanquished, and I don’t even have a proper set of weapons to defend myself with. Knowing all this, if you still wish me to fight, let it be so. But the world will finally know that for all his talk of dharma, Yudhishthira is no better than the rest of us inferior mortals.’
Hearing Duryodhana lecture him on virtue and morality, Yudhishthira finally lost the self-control he was famous for and walked right into the trap laid for him by his mortal foe of admittedly inferior morality but far superior cunning. Goaded thus, Yudhishthira said with uncharacteristic sarcasm, ‘I am so happy to have you in my life, if only to advise me on how to conduct myself according to the code of dharma. You can stop your whining about being alone and unarmed. Pick any weapon you prefer and choose one of us as your opponent. And if you succeed in defeating your chosen man, we will place the crown on your head and relinquish our claim to the Kingdom.’
When he heard these words, Duryodhana came out from the water with a triumphant roar, his mace resting menacingly on his shoulder. Eyes smouldering with hatred, he advanced on the brothers. ‘I thank you for your magnanimity, Yudhishthira. People have often mistaken your nobility for sheer stupidity, but those of us who know and love you so well, know the truth.’ Pausing meaningfully, he looked at each of the Pandavas in turn, taunting them with his piercing eyes. ‘Today one of you will fall victim to my mighty mace. Of that there can be no room for doubt, as nobody, and I mean nobody, can wield a mace better than me. Who may that be, I wonder?’ And with a carefully careless smile, he turned towards the attendant who had brought him a helmet and a suit of armour, and busied himself with preparations for the upcoming battle, not deigning to even look at the suddenly anxious group who waited in miserable suspense.
Krishna rounded on Yudhishthira and took him to one side. Yudhishthira had seldom seen such furious anger directed towards himself by the Lord who walked among men, and he quailed in the face of it. When the Dark Lord spoke, his words sounded like a whiplash and stung Yudhishthira with their impact. ‘Duryodhana is right about you! Your unfathomable lack of practical sense is what masquerades as a passion for dharma! So many men have fought and died to see you installed on the throne, and you cast away their sacrifice with your infernal propensity to gamble! Balarama has told me often that Duryodhana is his most accomplished pupil and will never be defeated while he holds a mace in his hand. By letting him choose his weapon, you have doomed us. And if that were not enough, you let him choose his opponent! Bheema alone has the strength to prevail against him, and even that may not be enough.
While the lot of you were languishing in the jungle as a direct result of your insatiable love for dice, Duryodhana spent every single day practising with his mace. He used an iron statue of Bheema to motivate him and to prepare him for an encounter with his sworn enemy. His skill has been supplemented with long years of practice and he is now unbeatable. Bheema will never win in a fair fight. And if your brother is defeated, you will have only yourself to blame.’
Yudhishthira was crushed and looked so miserable that his brothers could not bear it and rushed to his side. Bheema spoke: ‘Don’t worry Krishna, we have all learned to work our way around Big Brother’s well-intentioned blunders. I will not let that scoundrel defeat me. The anger which I have nursed against him all these years for every injury we have endured at his hands, will sustain and help me to overwhelm him, despite his supposedly superior skill with the mace.”
Krishna smiled and spoke words of encouragement to him. Then Bheema turned to the man he hated more than any other. ‘Coward and swaggering bully that you are, I suppose you will pick one of the twins to fight with and overpower them with your mace or your odious trickery, that are both equally potent? Everybody knows that you develop cold feet whenever you see Arjuna, so it must be your intention to prove the world wrong and triumph over him with a weapon that does not play to his strengths. Surely, you don’t intend to fight Yudhishthira for the throne? He will be so repelled by your evil nature that it will be hard for him to even get close to you. It is a colossal pity that you do not have the courage to fight me, for I will prove once and for all that I am your better in every conceivable way!’
Duryodhana smiled maliciously before replying, ‘Don’t exert your brain too much, Bheema. The Creator failed to give you much of that asset and your limited resources will not be able to take the strain. I can see through your pathetic little ploy. Of course, I intend to fight you. It was my design all along, for the others are beneath me. And I shall defeat you, make no mistake!’
Bheema and Duryodhana would have rushed each other then and there, but for the timely intervention of Balarama, their Guru. He had gone on a pilgrimage, having disdained to take part in a war that would have pitted him against his blood relatives or Krishna. Having completed his religious tour, he arrived on the scene, anxious to see for himself what had transpired in the war. On being informed by Krishna that his foremost disciples would decide the outcome of the great battle, he gave his approval and suggested the great match take place at nearby Samantapanchaka, the most hallowed of grounds. In a bygone era, when the great Parashurama had gone forth on a bloody mission to rid the world of Kshatriyas, his divine anger obliterated his compassion and rendered him terrible. At the place called Samantapanchaka, he created five lakes, with the blood of the men he slew and offered them to the souls of his ancestors, whom he revered above all else. It was at this consecrated spot that Richika, one of his forefathers, appeared before him. Having commended him for his valour in avenging the death of his father, rishi Jamadagni, he granted him a boon. Parashurama asked to be cleansed of the sin of killing, and his wish was granted and the lakes were sanctified. Richika then ordered him to desist from his self-appointed task of ridding the world of Kshatriyas and the fiery warrior assented.
And so it was that Samantapanchaka came to receive yet another oblation of blood. Having adjourned to that legendary spot and with Balarama presiding, the epic clash between the cousins, Duryodhana and Bheema, commenced. The small group of men who witnessed this grand spectacle, sat around in a circle and watched tensely as the adversaries fought for honour, a Kingdom, and to settle intensely personal scores.
Bheema thought of Duryodhana’s attempts to kill him while they were still children. He remembered the fiery hell that was Varanavata and the feel of death as it brushed close to him and all those he loved best in the world; the game of dice; the loss of their Kingdom; and above all, he dwelt on the humiliation of Draupadi, his beloved wife. She might be their common wife but she knew that he, Bheema, loved her more than his brothers did, great though their love was. The memory of her tears snapped open the bars that had barely held in the monster that was his anger.
Duryodhana in turn, thought of the loved ones he had lost to Bheema’s fiendish wrath. The hundred sons of Gandhari had been killed mercilessly by that accursed son of Kunti, till only one remained. Duhshasana had been his favourite, a beloved brother, loyal friend, t
rusted confidant and fellow conspirator. The Pandava brute had actually torn open Dushasana’s chest and quaffed his blood. Duryodhana’s eyes swam with tears of grief and rage as he recollected that terrible deed. On this day, he would fight for all he had loved and lost, and finally revenge would be his.
The cousins charged at each other, spurred on by the intensity of their mutual hatred. It was a contest for the ages. The viewers watched breathless with admiration as the two men raised the level of combat to a standard the world had never seen before and never would again. The two men circled expertly, appraising vulnerabilities and lowered defences, before moving in to strike. Blows were dodged and blows were struck while their blood and sweat mingled in a an unending stream.
Duryodhana began to edge ahead of Bheema, as his experience and skill began to tell. Any man but Bheema would have succumbed to the blows that landed like Indra’s thunderbolt, but the second Pandava was the strongest man alive and his body withstood the punishment being meted out and kept him on his feet. But even his great strength could not last forever, and Bheema felt his iron constitution show the first signs of crumbling as fits of dizziness almost overpowered him. Sensing his advantage, Duryodhana moved like a whirlwind, striking Bheema repeatedly and so fast that Bheema felt his body under siege from all sides. The Kaurava leapt high into the air before striking, in order to gain the maximum impact. But Bheema continued to block the blows with renewed vigour as his survival instincts somehow spurred him on.
Watching the mauling of his brother by the abominable son of Gandhari, Arjuna turned to Krishna. ‘Do you think Bheema can still win?’ Krishna shook his head and said, ‘Bheema’s great strength keeps defeat at arm’s length, but he will not be able to hold out for much longer. Duryodhana is too good with a mace. In a fair fight he will always prevail. I wonder if Bheema remembers his vow to break Duryodhana’s thighs?’
Arjuna needed no further prompting. He stared at his brother, focusing his entire will on catching his brother’s eye. Those piercing eyes penetrated the haze of blood surrounding Bheema and met his for a fleeting moment. In that moment, Arjuna tapped his thigh and Bheema saw all too clearly his only hope for victory and survival. He snatched at it.
Bheema waited for an opportunity and when Duryodhana again leapt up into the air, he brought his mace crashing down on his thigh and smashed it. Mortally wounded, Duryodhana collapsed to the ground, screaming in agony. The brothers and their supporters cheered their champion, even as he walked towards the fallen man and placed his feet on Duryodhana’s head. ‘This is for every wrong you have ever done us. This is your punishment for destroying so many lives. And most of all, this is for Draupadi! Feel the pain and repent for your misdeeds, you foul fiend!’
Yudhishthira rushed forward and pulled his brother away. ‘It is finished now. There is no need for any more virulence. Nobody has won in this accursed war. We get a Kingdom but we have paid too heavy a price for it. At least Duryodhana will be joining his loved ones soon, while we will have to trudge on in this world, knowing that so many of our loved ones are gone forever!’
The words were uttered to comfort a fallen enemy, but Balarama was having none of it. He rose to his feet, quivering with the sheer force of his anger. Duryodhana had been his favourite pupil, and it galled him to see him on the ground, a broken man, vanquished by unfair means. He spat his fury at Bheema. ‘That was the most shameful thing I have ever had the misfortune to witness! How dare you stoop to such despicable levels? I myself taught you the rules of fair combat, and you know that it is forbidden to attack beneath the navel. This will be the last time you flout the rules of combat and I shall personally ensure it!’ With these words, Balarama snatched up the plough, his weapon of choice, and rushed at his former pupil, determined to end his life.
Krishna had to intervene and forcibly restrain his ill-tempered sibling. ‘Control yourself, brother! This is but a tiny lapse in morality compared with your beloved pupil’s transgressions. If I were to take the same view of the matter, I would have had to kill him many times over!’
Balarama allowed himself to be restrained, but he refused to be mollified. With blazing eyes he addressed the gathering: ‘It is an ugly day for the Kshatriyas as Bheema’s unforgiveable breach reflects badly on all of us. He is an unworthy champion and I will not condone what has happened today.’ Turning his back on all of them, he got into his chariot and stormed off, leaving everyone in his wake chastened.
But as soon as Balarama’s chariot disappeared, the men began cheering in earnest for Bheema. His brothers were besides themselves with joy and whooped with delight. They hugged Bheema in turn and staunchly informed him that he was truly the mightiest hero this world had seen. Krishna interrupted the celebrations and suggested they leave the spot as they had rendered their biggest threat ineffectual. The brothers departed with Krishna, feeling happy and content that the bloodshed had ended at long last. They heard the dying man they were leaving behind, utter the foulest words his agony could conjure, and they drove hard to put an unbridgable distance between themselves and that voice. With spirits buoyed up again, they felt it was right to be finally happy. None of them noticed Krishna’s eyes. If they had, all their mirth would have been replaced by dark forebodings of despair.
19
Midnight Massacre
The Pandavas and Krishna made their way to the Kaurava camp to check for any signs of survivors. There were none. The men leapt down from their chariots for a closer look. Krishna alone tarried. Seeing that the others were at a comfortable distance from the vehicle, he alighted slowly. No sooner had he done so, than the chariot burst into flames and in a matter of moments nothing but ash remained. Seeing the gift Agni had given him destroyed so utterly, Arjuna was heartbroken. His chariot had been a part of him ever since Khandava and, in a strange way, he felt that it had fought with him and protected him almost as much as Krishna had. He tried to quell the tears that rose unbidden, and turned blindly to his best friend, as he always did, for an explanation.
Krishna provided him with the answer which resolved his doubt and confusion. ‘As you know, in warfare, one of the means to render a foe vulnerable is to destroy his vehicle. Every warrior worth his salt wished to claim your life and they tried in vain to smash the chariot. The truth is, they were more successful than they or even you, realized. Drona and Karna went about it using their celestial weapons, and even your chariot was not a match for those. It was destroyed long ago; but my presence held it together. Now that you have accomplished all that you were meant to, I saw no further reason for it to remain.’
Arjuna nodded dumbly. His brothers stared at the burning wreckage and felt fear brush uncomfortably close to them with its clammy touch. The heroes of the battle of Kurukshetra trembled. Krishna smiled beatifically at them and said, ‘Do not brood. It has been an exhausting day to say the least. I feel that it would be wiser to camp close by and return to our camp on the morrow, so that we are fresh and better equipped to deal with all the pending formalities.’ The brothers listened to him and they stayed away from their camp. Thus did Krishna adroitly deliver them from certain death.
Shortly after Bheema had vanquished Duryodhana and left him to bleed to death at Samantapanchaka, he was visited by the trio who were all that remained of the mighty Kaurava army. Ashwatthama, Kripacharya and Kritavarma, stood around the fallen Prince and shed bitter tears for him. Ashwatthama was particularly affected; Duryodhana had befriended him from the start and had always stood by him. Tearfully, he addressed the man who had once ruled the world and was now lying bleeding in the dust at his feet: ‘Truly, this is the blackest day in the history of mankind! Seeing you like this brings back to me all the pain I endured when my father was taken from me by foul means. However, the ache has been magnified a hundredfold. I am cursed indeed to lose my father and my friend, and just about everyone else I have ever cared for, in this accursed battle!’
Seeing Ashwatthama open the deluge of angst in his heart, broke Duryodhana
’s spirit in a way that Bheema’s mace could never have managed. He spoke in shuddering gasps: ‘It is so hard for me to believe that it ends like this. My best friend of unmatched valour is gone. All my brothers are dead. Men like the Grandsire and the Acharya, who I believed could never be defeated, have been vanquished. My mortal enemies, the Pandavas, whom I have hated all my life, are now in possession of the Kingdom that is mine by right and they still have each other and their sons by that whore, Draupadi. That vile witch who, using the tricks she learnt from some base den of inequity, finagled a promise from Bheema to kill Duhshasana and drink his blood. His blood! Can you imagine anyone capable of such evil?
And my friend Karna was killed by the treachery of Krishna and Arjuna. They were so eager for the victory they were not entitled to, that they stooped to killing a defenceless man who was in the act of freeing his chariot wheel. Did you know that Karna is the eldest son of Kunti, born of Surya? Don’t look at me like that, it is true enough. The Grandsire told me the secret after his heroic death. The Pandavas do not know this, but Karna himself knew about his divine birth. Krishna made sure he knew as did that sinner, Kunti, hoping to turn him away from me. But my true friend Karna, did not go to join his brothers like they had hoped. He was told that death would remorselessly find him if he chose to remain with me, and yet he chose me over them, so great was his loyalty and love. Without him, life has no meaning for me.
Death is waiting in the wings and I am not long for this world. There is little solace for me, as the men responsible for killing so many of my loved ones will also usurp my throne. But, at least I will be going to the warrior’s heaven. I have fought this war like a true hero and discharged every duty that is demanded of a Kshatriya. I will be reunited with Karna and my brothers. It is a great comfort to me, but at this moment, as life ebbs away, I wish there was some way I could make the Pandavas pay for what they have done; make them cry and lament the way I am doing now. Only then will I die in peace.’
Arjuna Page 27