Epic Retold: The Mahabharata in Tweets (23 page)

The third day had passed inconclusively. Soldiers continued to die on both sides. But none of the main fighters had fallen on either side.

Our spies brought the news that Duryodhana was fuming. He had expected a quick victory. He was angry with Bhishma for not achieving that.

Since the killing of the Kalingas, Duryodhana had kept close to the troops of Bhagadatta, his father-in-law and king of Pragyotisha.

Today, I notice him shooting sly arrows at my chariot from behind his bodyguards. Visoka winces as one pierces his shoulder.

‘Only a scratch,’ he says, removing it. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

The rules we had agreed on with Bhishma stipulate that warriors must not deliberately attack charioteers. I wonder what happened to that.

With some difficulty, Visoka circumvents the ground troops and puts me in direct sight of my archenemy.

Before the two chariots protecting Duryodhana can block my view, I hit him with a succession of three arrows.

I watch with pleasure as my fourth missile sinks into his breastplate. Visoka shouts a warning. I turn swiftly to his bodyguards.

When they fall without fanfare, there is surprise on his face. I smile. Yes, Duryodhana, the fat fool can shoot!

His first volley clatters harmlessly on to my deck. Ignoring an arrow that grazes my cheek, I wait for an opportune moment.

The uneven ground spoils my aim a little. The arrow meant for his throat strikes a few fingers too high, knocking off his crown.

Duryodhana sits down heavily. His charioteer whips the horses around.

When Visoka tries to pursue, Bhagadatta’s elephant blocks us. The scornful looks his allies throw at Duryodhana are my reward for the day.

The next day, Bhagadatta seeks me out early in the battle. Once again I find myself facing an elephant force.

His tusker, Supratika, is more fearsome than any I have seen. It had covered Duryodhana’s retreat very efficiently the previous day.

When I leap out to face it, Visoka warns, ‘Careful! No recklessness with this one!’

The elephant parries the lances I throw at it easily. The spot behind its ear is my target, but Supratika advances without exposing it.

I duck to escape its sweeping trunk and find myself in a disagreeable position: under the belly of the mammoth beast.

The lessons I learnt from the mahouts of Hastinapur come to my rescue. When it turns to find me, I turn with it, between its feet.

Bhagadatta is laughing astride the elephant. Knowing I cannot keep this up for long, I look for an escape.

Suddenly, Supratika staggers to one side, knocked off balance by another elephant. As I emerge into light, I see a familiar figure.

Ghatotkacha. Mounted on an elephant that looks half-wild. ‘Father, here!’ he says, extending a lance.

Ghatotkacha jumps into the midst of the enemy troops when I clamber on to his beast. From there, for the first time, I watch my son in battle.

His axe flashes in a wide arc. A head falls. I see soldiers wilting at the sound of his full-throated battle cry.

That night Abhimanyu speaks of the same thing. Ghatotkacha! What a warrior! Nobody dared to face him!

‘What strength! What speed!’ Abhimanyu says, shaking his head. ‘Not one of us can match him, Uncle!’

When days pass without any breakthroughs, Yudhistira becomes impatient. The nightly war councils begin to hear many recriminations.

On the eighth day, I find Duryodhana protected on all sides by his brothers. I count eight of them. Unfortunately, Dushasana is not there.

Duryodhana retreats quickly. Eager to make a name for themselves, the younger Kauravas attack with vigour.

When an arrow hits my breastplate, I fake injury. Visoka drives to one side, pretending to be in trouble. The Kauravas follow, shouting.

Visoka whips the chariot around, catching them by surprise. When I fell four of them one after the other, I expect the others to retreat.

But foolishly, they continue their charge. The javelin I hurl breaks through the breastplate of Bhima, my namesake on the Kaurava side.

Then, grabbing my mace, I leap out. Sarasana, Bhimarata and Suvarman seem to believe they can overwhelm me. A mistake.

They should have stayed in their chariots. They could have lived another day.

Afterwards, I pluck out the arrows from my body. The armour Visoka had procured for me is excellent. Only one missile has pierced skin.

The killing of the Kaurava brothers brings little joy to our camp that night. We have lost one of our sons.

Iravan, Arjuna’s son born to the Naga princess Uloopi, was killed by Alambushan, a forester fighting with Duryodhana.

Ghatotkacha had beheaded Alambushan immediately after, Abhimanyu said, and had wanted to carry the forester’s head to Arjuna.

The next night, Abhimanyu brings news that Krishna is wounded. When I rush to his tent, the physician is there. Arjuna waits by his side.

‘Bhishma!’ Krishna says. He has a deep gash on his chest, where one of the grandsire’s arrows meant for Arjuna had struck.

My younger brother and Bhishma had clashed that day. Arjuna fought well, killing many, penetrating the grandsire’s protective cover.

But then he became defensive, refusing to take the opportunities Krishna made for him. Bhishma, on the other hand, had not held back.

‘I was tempted to choke him with my whip,’ Krishna says. ‘The whip is not really a weapon. I only promised not to use a weapon!’

But Arjuna had stopped him. It was only after a misplaced arrow wounded Krishna that Arjuna awoke from his trance. By then the day was over.

‘Bhishma must fall!’ Krishna says. ‘The old man’s strategies have kept Duryodhana safe. So long as he stands, the Kauravas have hope!’

Bhishma is the symbol of righteousness for many of the Kaurava allies, Krishna continues, he is the reason they fight.

‘They respect him, they fight to honour him,’ Krishna says. ‘Once he falls, their commitment to Duryodhana’s cause will waver.’

When Arjuna does not respond, Krishna says exasperatedly, ‘Have we not discussed all this before? The enemy is nothing but the enemy!’

Arjuna hastens out. Krishna looks after him and sighs. ‘He does not have the heart for it,’ he says. ‘Someone else must take on Bhishma!’

Krishna sends for Drishtadyumna and Shikhandi. When they arrive, he tells us what he has in mind.

Shikhandi will support Arjuna tomorrow. The rest of us will spread out, drawing away the other warriors who come to Bhishma’s aid.

‘The Kauravas have seen Arjuna hesitate,’ Krishna says. ‘They will not expect great danger to the grandsire from him.’

Once Arjuna engages Bhishma, Krishna will switch targets at an appropriate moment. Shikhandi will take over, while Arjuna covers him.

Looking at the Panchala prince’s impassive face, I feel confident. I recall his nonchalant promise at the start of the war.

Bhishma will fall tomorrow. Shikhandi will not let emotion stand in his way.

When battle commences in the morning, I find myself under concerted attack. It is as if the Kauravas have decided I am their biggest threat.

Bhagadatta leads the charge. With Virata’s troops in support, I face him eagerly. If I neutralize him, Duryodhana will be exposed.

When Bhagadatta tires, Kritavarma, a distant relative of Krishna fighting with the Kauravas, comes forward. Salya too joins the battle.

As Visoka changes direction with incredible speed, I attack Kritavarma’s exposed left flank and sink two arrows into his shoulder.

Then, I turn to Salya. Around me, Virata and his troops are fighting a valiant battle.

New warriors strengthen the Kaurava ranks when old ones tire. There is no respite. I see exhaustion on Virata’s face.

When Kripa also joins those allied against me and Jayadratha moves to cut off my retreat from behind, I am tested to my limit.

Grimly, I target the teacher. I am not prey to the moral dilemmas plaguing Arjuna.

My arrow sinks into his flagpole with a quiver. I follow it with another three before the old man even strings his first.

Men past their prime, Arjuna had said. Men needing protection. Yes, the might of our masters is often a creation of our childhood memories.

It is Visoka’s shout that saves me from the lance Jayadratha throws at my head. It misses me by a hair’s breadth.

Attack from behind! Many against one! Whatever happened to the righteous war we agreed to fight?

Deliberately, I target Jayadratha’s horses. I do not want to die a fool’s death, abiding by rules the enemy has already broken.

When the Sindhu king’s chariot comes to a standstill, I notice Chandrasena, one of Duryodhana’s brothers, rushing to his rescue.

I face Kripa. Bhagadatta and Kritavarma have now joined him. As they begin to close in, a sudden blast of conch makes me turn around.

A chariot drawn by six black horses is flying towards me. Abhimanyu!

Since the war began I have heard of my nephew’s feats every night. This is the first time I get a chance to watch him so closely.

I see the difference between the young and the old. If war is duty for my generation, it is play for Abhimanyu. A game.

Effortlessly, he evades Kripa’s attack. Then with bewildering speed he sends a salvo that cuts the teacher’s bow in half.

Keeping Bhagadatta at bay with a stream of arrows, he sends a salvo high into the air. They fall in a perfect circle around Kripa’s chariot.

‘Retreat, teacher!’ Abhimanyu says, laughing at the old man.

The Kauravas melt away under my nephew’s audacious attack. After Bhagadatta and Kritavarma retreat bleeding, Abhimanyu comes to me.

‘Uncle, you were amazing!’ he says. ‘You held off ten warriors all by yourself!’

‘There were only seven,’ I say. The lacerations all over my body suddenly lose their sting.

‘Ten! I counted! People speak of your ability in personal combat. I never knew you were so skilled an archer! Who can fight ten warriors?’

I feel the battle fatigue lifting from me. Smiling, I tell him, ‘Your father can. Now I know of another one!’

Abhimanyu smiles at me. Just then, I hear a blare of conch from the northern front. Visoka whips the horses around.

As we rush to the spot, I see the battle has stopped there. Warriors on both sides are gathering in a circle, around a fallen warrior.

A chariot is driving away from the ring of spectators. Shikhandi! Something resembling a smile flickers on his face when he sees me.

I batter my way through the crowd. Bhishma lies in his chariot, his body pierced by arrows. Arjuna kneels by his side, head bowed.

When I draw closer, I note the grandsire’s flawless white beard is stained with his own blood.

ANIMALS!

EPISODE 33

TWEETS 79

Bhishma does not die that day.

We learn the grandsire still clings to life in the Kaurava camp, slipping in and out of consciousness, watched over by a team of physicians.

I wonder why Bhishma’s soul refuses to shed its old clothes. Perhaps he has not lived an entirely righteous life!

The next morning, no one is surprised to see Drona has taken over as commander-in-chief. He leads several attacks on Yudhistira’s front.

Our spies had warned us that would happen. The brahmin’s strategy to win the war is to either capture or kill Yudhistira.

Bhishma had refused to have Karna under his command. With the grandsire retired, Karna too joins the war, which pleases Arjuna greatly.

But my younger brother is kept from seeking out the charioteer’s son, engaged as he is with protecting Yudhistira from Drona.

The next day sees fierce fighting. Karna’s presence has energized the enemy. On our side, with the grandsire gone, Arjuna is unstoppable.

Men clash, die, on all fronts.

The thirteenth day dawns. Since the war began, the battleground has moved to the north, away from the river. Every day it keeps shifting.

We pick our way through previous carnage, through the stench of yesterday’s death. Jackals pulling at rotting flesh scatter at our approach.