AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) (65 page)

Yudhishtra was tired of questions and even more tired of seeking the answers. The time had come to take a journey, the last one. He was going to the Himalayas to contemplate on life. It would not be easy but it would perhaps soothe his burning conscience. He was tired of ruling. Let Dhaumya and Yuyutsu take care of it. He was leaving everything to Arjuna’s grandson, Parikshat. The boy was still too young to be King, but his kingship would just be titular. The real King would be Yuyutsu. Parikshat had been compelled to marry, despite his young age, to ensure the next generation.

***

Once they reached Hastinapura, Yudhishtra made arrangements to ceremoniously anoint Parikshat. On the day after the coronation, even before the flowers that decorated the streets had wilted, Yudhishtra, his four brothers, and Draupadi, walked out of the palace, leaving the throne for which they had killed so many people. Seeing his brothers and wife dressed in their simple clothes, Yudhishtra wished yet again that he was going alone on this journey. But he had not the will to argue with them. Yudhishtra sighed and began walking, leaving the palace of Hastinapura behind. There were hundreds of people on the streets to watch their departure. No one cheered, no one cried. They knew nothing would really change for them. Dhaumya, the Guru, mumbled some
mantras
in blessing, and the final parting was made.

Yudhishtra walked quickly, in order to get away. He could hear the footsteps of his brothers and Draupadi hurrying behind him.

As he left Hastinapura, he paused for one last look at the city he had fought so hard to prise away from his cousin, using every means, fair and foul. He could almost hear Shakuni’s laughter and the dice rolling on the floor. No, it had been destiny, fate,
karma,
he told himself. Everything that happened was for the good, Krishna had often said. Another question arose in Yudhishtra’s mind. Everything was for the good, but for whose good? The question terrified him. It was time to go to the Himalayas, away from the real world of illusion.

A beggar was sleeping on a dirty pavement strewn with garbage. He looked as content as a baby. Yudhishtra paused. He knew the beggar. What was his name? Ah, Jara. His gaze stopped on the flute the beggar had tucked into his waistband. Krishna’s flute! Where had he got it? Jara’s body shivered as a cold breeze nudged him. On impulse, Yudhishtra took off the shawl he was wearing and covered Jara. He paused. He did not want the beggar to owe him anything; he would take something from him for the shawl he had covered him with. Yudhishtra picked up Jara’s tattered blanket. It stank of poverty. Yudhishtra smiled. His penance was assuming more meaning.

As Yudhishtra moved on, Jara’s dog stirred. It was old, blind and close to death. Many people had kicked and tortured it, yet somehow it had managed to stay alive on the streets of Bharatavarsha, thanks to the kindness of a few. Dharma sniffed the air and caught the fast-vanishing smell of his master’s blanket. The blind dog began following Yudhishtra on its tottering legs.

***

In the upper reaches of the Himalayas, Draupadi was the first to fall from exhaustion. Her cries for help were like shards of glass in Yudhishtra’s heart and he almost lost his will. But he braced himself. It was a test of the self-control and detachment he had cultivated. He knew she had always loved Arjuna the most. But she did not call out the name of any of her five husbands. As her lips turned blue and death came to claim her, she spoke Karna’s name. Closing his eyes, Yudhishtra turned away. Bhima lingered, trying to talk to the now-silent Draupadi. His brothers were far ahead. He called to Yudhishtra, but the eldest Pandava did not stop. Bhima felt his heart would break if he stayed to watch his beloved Draupadi die. Suddenly, Hidumbi’s face flashed into his mind, the Rakshasi he had not seen since he had left her, who had starved to death, the mother of Khatotkacha, who had died unlamented. Now Draupadi, born a princess, lay dying like the Rakshasi, uncared for, in this snowy wilderness. Death was the great equaliser, it did not differentiate between a princess and an untouchable. Bhima blinked his eyes, hardened his heart and followed his brothers.

Sahadeva slipped into a gorge but Yudhishtra did not stop. He could hear his brother’s screams as he fell. The other Pandavas wavered, undecided whether to follow Yudhishtra or try to save the youngest.

“Attachment, even to a brother, is a sin. He is paying for his
karma,”
Yudhishtra said and he continued walking. The wind howled through the mountain passes, but its chill was nothing compared to Yudhishtra’s words.

He was far ahead with the dog, Dharma, when Nakula fell. Bhima cried out to Yudhishtra to stop, but his steps only became firmer as he climbed higher.

Before Arjuna fell, he asked Yudhishtra, “What was my sin other than to follow Krishna’s orders?” His brother had no answer except to say he must have committed some sin in this or a previous life.

When Bhima collapsed starving and dehydrated, Yudhishtra was tempted to stop. This innocent brother had earned the reputation of being a brute for his sake. He had been a fool to do what others had asked him to, crushing those pointed out to him. He had even dishonoured himself by smashing his cousin’s thighs for Yudhishtra’s sake. If anyone had sinned without attachment, it was Bhima. Yet, he too, had to die a miserable and lonely death in the cold mountains.

***

The air had become thin and Yudhishtra’s limbs had become numb from the cold. Snow fell around him and he wheezed as he climbed higher. The tattered blanket was of little use in this weather. Yudhishtra had triumphed in the race of virtue. He was the son of
dharma.
He had survived. If he waited patiently in the snowy heights, the chariot from heaven would surely come to get him. The lack of air was playing tricks with his brain. Had something zoomed past him? Was it a cloud or Indra’s chariot come to take him to heaven? Or had he already reached his heavenly abode? Ah, the chariot had indeed come...

“You have come to take me to heaven,” Yudhishtra smiled and whispered into the oppressive emptiness around him. “I am coming, but I bring Dharma with me.” His voice was swallowed by the snow-clad mountains. “Heaven, receive your servant,” he cried and stepped into the abyss, taking the dog with him.

Silence descended as he vanished into the eternal snows. Nothing stirred for some time, then a tiny paw came over the edge of the cliff, then a muzzle. The blind dog hoisted itself up to safety. It sniffed the cold air and then, with renewed vigour, started on its journey back to where it belonged.

*****

84
   
G
RAND
A
LLIANCE

TAKSHAKA ANNOUNCED THAT HE WAS
going to assassinate King Parikshat. To make his act more daring, and to increase his popularity among the Nagas and others struggling under Dhaumya and Yuyutsu’s rule, he spread the news and even gave out the time of the assassination. He claimed
dharma
was with the Nagas. Where there was
dharma,
there would be victory.

As the day of reckoning approached, the security around the palace was tightened and guards roamed the streets, arresting suspicious-looking persons. The palace garden was dug to create a lake and the King lived in a hastily-built tower in its centre, from where the guards could see any approaching assassins. Only a group of priests were allowed inside the tower. They entertained the young King with stories of Krishna’s childhood. For seven days, they talked of the glory of Vaikunta and the mercy of the Lord.

Unknown to the young King, whose wife was pregnant, a wicked conspiracy had been hatched. Takshaka was desperate for a victory and one of Yuyutsu’s men became the mediator between the dreaded Naga and the
Rajaguru
of the Kurus. Parikshat’s death would serve as a God-given opportunity for Dhaumya and Yuyutsu to take control of Bharatavarsha. If a boy was born to Parikshat’s wife, they could place the infant on the throne instead of Parikshat, who had been spoilt by Kripa. If it was a girl, it would be even better. Soon, it became a necessity to Dhaumya, even more than to Takshaka, that Parikshat die.

Takshaka entered Parikshat’s tower on the seventh day, disguised as a Brahmin, walking in with the group of priests who came to tell the King amazing tales about Krishna. At the end of a story that told of Krishna’s seven days of miracles, the
saptaha,
Takshaka shot a poisoned arrow into Parikshat’s heart. As the innocent King lay writhing in pain, Takshaka was allowed to escape into the forest.

Some days after Parikshat’s cremation, his wife bore him a posthumous son. By then, Yuyutsu, the Vaishya son of Dhritarashtra, had been declared the Grand Regent of the Kurus. He allowed the coronation of the baby, Janamejaya, as the last King of the Kurus, but he retained control and ruled Bharatavarsha in consultation with
Rajaguru
Dhaumya. Where the great Kshatriya, Bhishma, had once sat in splendour, the great Vaishya merchant now sat. The wheel of
dharma
had turned full circle.

***

“What shall we do with this senile man?” the priest asked Dhaumya, pointing at Parashurama.

Dhaumya looked at the man who had once held the entire South under his sway. He was muttering Karna’s name. “Take him back to the South. At the Krishna River, you know what to do. He will become immortal.”

“What do we do with Vrishaketu, Karna’s son?”

“His mother is a Suta; he has no right to stay in the palace. Send him to the stables. Let him take the position his grandfather, Athiratha, once held.”

The priest bowed and Dhaumya turned away. He had far more important things to attend to than to listen to the mutterings of an old Guru or worry about a Suta. He wondered again where Kripa could be. They had not been able to find him since the day of Parikshat’s death. He had vanished. But Dhaumya felt sure that one day he would find the maverick Brahmin. He knocked on the door of his closest ally. “Grand Regent Yuyutsu, we need your help. Now that Takshaka has struck as he promised, he has given us a new opportunity to strike back. The fool had walked into our trap. What is your opinion on a
Sarpasatra?”

“It would be a good thing,” Yuyutsu said, swirling the exotic
soma
in his bejewelled glass.

“Yuyutsu, we can always count on you.”

“I am just a Vaishya, Guru. I keep away from politics. I wear the title of Grand Regent like a crown of thorns.”

Dhaumya paused, licking his lips. “I am aware you are only doing your duty, but you will have to take on more responsibility now since King Janamejaya is just a baby.”

“As you say, Guru, as you say. We must perform the
Sarpasatra
and sacrifice the Nagas. We can eliminate them once and for all.”

“Yuyutsu, there will be those who will say that such killings are against
dharma.”

“Oh, we can call them terrorists or Rakshasas. We will brand them as traitors and blasphemers.”

“You are a genius, Yuyutsu.”

“I am just a merchant, Guru.”

“Yes, but a merchant who can see which side will win. That is an invaluable gift.”

“It is merely the difference between being an ordinary merchant and a great merchant. I am a true Vaishya, just like you are a true Brahmin, Guru. Together, we can rule this country well.
Dharma
and
commerce
will both be served.” Yuyutsu took another sip of his
soma.

“People need Gods and
avatars.
They want magic.”

“We will give them magic. In return, they will give us their freedom. They will get what they deserve and we will get what we want. To the
Sarpasatra,
the grand sacrifice of Nagas.” Yuyutsu raised his glass to Dhaumya.

Takshaka had every reason to worry. He had competition.

***

Far to the south, in a small village called Malanada, a little girl stood watching the King’s men demolish a temple. Her grandmother’s grip on her wrist became painful when the last brick fell. The villagers did not dare to even murmur. The soldiers threw the idols into the lake.

Long after the last idol came to rest on the muddy lake bottom, while cicadas chirped and frogs croaked, the girl asked the old woman why the men had destroyed the village temple. It was raining outside and she lay with her head in her grandmother’s lap.

The old lady’s eyes glistened with tears. “It means that the only men who cared for us are dead.”

The little girl stared up at her without understanding. Her grandmother ruffled her hair. A wild beast howled in the forest beyond the village. “I am afraid, Grandma,” the child said, gripping the old woman’s sari.

“Pray, my child. It will ease your mind.”

“But there are no temples or Gods left to pray to,” the girl said, confused.

An image of the Prince who had relished the pot of toddy from her hands flashed through the old woman’s mind. She smiled at her grandchild. “Some gods do not need temples or priests. Just pray they will be born again among us, within us.”