Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (63 page)

and found him weeping. “Sanjaya,” he said,

“tell my father that I have nothing left,

nothing in the world worth living for.

I shall immerse myself in this deep lake.”

Then, by enchantment, making himself a space

deep within the lake, and sealing the surface,

Duryodhana sank and disappeared from view.

Presently, I encountered Kritavarman

approaching with Kripa and Ashvatthaman,

bringing their horses to the lake to drink.

I told them what Duryodhana had said

and pointed out the place where he had vanished

beneath the water. “Alas!” sighed Ashvatthaman,

“Perhaps he did not know we were still alive.

The four of us could have fought on, even now.”

The three companions and I went back to camp.

The whole place was in panic. In muddled haste,

everything was being dismantled—tents

taken down, equipment roughly bundled

and loaded onto carts. Duryodhana’s wives,

sobbing and terrified, were setting off

back to the city with their aged servants.

Scared by rumors of Pandava reprisals,

even local farmers left their fields

and hurried toward the city for protection.

Yuyutsu, who had fought for the Pandavas,

now set off to return to Hastinapura,

anxious for your welfare. He met Vidura,

who was overjoyed to see him. “Thank the gods,

Dhritarashtra has one son still alive

to give him comfort in his terrible grief!”

Duryodhana’s three remaining friends

hid beside the empty Kaurava camp,

and watched as Yudhishthira and his brothers

came looking for Duryodhana, searched the site

but, failing to find him, went to their own camp.

Once the Pandavas had gone, the three men

hurried to the lake, and called the prince.

“Come out, Duryodhana, and fight the Pandavas.

The four of us can take them by surprise

and quickly overcome them.” Duryodhana

answered from the depths of the lake. “My friends,

I thank you, but this is not the time to fight.

You are tired, and I am badly battered.

Tomorrow, for sure, we’ll fight the enemy.”

Ashvatthaman tried to change his mind.

“If I do not kill our enemies

this very night,” he cried, “then may I never

enjoy the fruits of my pious sacrifices.”

It happened that some hunters were nearby,

men who had been bringing Bhima baskets

of fresh meat every day. They overheard

the conversation and, anticipating

a fat reward, they approached the Pandavas.

Bhima and his brothers were delighted

and relieved to have news of Duryodhana.

Word spread quickly, and Yudhishthira,

with a group of followers, rode out

toward the seemingly deserted lake.

Their chariot wheels caused the earth to tremble

and Duryodhana’s three friends, in alarm,

knowing the prince was safe, crept quietly

behind a tree a little distance off,

where they settled down to rest for a while.

The Pandavas arrived at the lakeshore.

“That wretch is skulking underneath the water

by some trickery,” said Yudhishthira.

“No one can reach him. But he won’t escape me!”

“Ways and means,” said Krishna. “Against tricksters

you have to use trickery of your own—

that is how the gods themselves have conquered

slippery enemies. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Duryodhana!” Yudhishthira called out,

“Why are you hiding like a low criminal?

Because of you, an entire generation

of noble warriors has been wiped out,

yet you seek to preserve your worthless life.

Come out and fight! You are a kshatriya!

Furthermore, you are a Bharata.

People speak of you as a great hero—

you’ve always boasted of your bravery.

But here you are, lurking in fear, avoiding

the battle you yourself have brought about.

All these days, you have seen your friends and kinsmen

slaughtered in your cause, yet you thought yourself

immortal. How little you understand!

Where is your pride? Where is your courage now?

Do your duty, man, come out and fight.”

Duryodhana replied from the lake’s depths.

“You are wrong. I am not afraid of you.

I did not leave the battle to save my life.

I was alone, wounded, without a chariot,

deprived of driver, weapons, followers.

For this reason only, I wanted rest—

not from fear, or grief, only fatigue.

Why don’t you yourselves rest for a while.

Then I shall certainly rise up from this lake

and fight—and destroy every one of you!”

“We have rested enough,” said Yudhishthira.

“Come out and fight! Either win the kingdom

or else die honorably at our hands

and pass on to the realm reserved for heroes.”

Duryodhana’s voice rose from beneath the water.

“Without my friend and brothers to share it with,

the kingdom of the Bharatas means nothing.

Without heroic kshatriyas to enjoy her,

Earth is like a widow—you can take her.

I still, however, wish to crush your pride,

bring low the Pandavas and the Panchalas.

Take the kingdom! Enjoy it if you can,

stripped as it is of warriors, all its wealth

devoured by devastating war. As for me,

I no longer wish to live. I shall retreat

to a life of contemplation in the woods.”

“I do not pity you,” said Yudhishthira.

“You may well, now that everything is lost,

be willing to give up the kingdom to me.

But the kingdom is no longer yours to give.

And how can you think I would accept

a gift from you, when you refused to cede

even as much terrain as would be covered

by a needle’s point?! Do you not see

that if both of us remain alive,

no one will understand who won this war?

You cannot choose to live. I could choose

to let you live; but I will not do so.

Come out of there and fight!”

Duryodhana,

unused to being talked to in this way,

was mortified, and sighed like a hissing snake.

“This is unfair—there are so many of you,

all well equipped and in good health, while I

am stripped of everything, badly wounded;

and I am all alone. Nevertheless,

if you agree to fight one at a time,

I shall kill each one of you with my mace.

I am not in the least afraid of you.

Today I shall discharge my debt to my friend,

my brothers and those kings who died for me.”

“I see you now remember what is due

from a kshatriya,” said Yudhishthira.

“A pity your sense of what is a fair fight

deserted you when you and your companions

killed Abhimanyu, tearing at his flesh

like a pack of wolves. Every one of you

was a trained warrior; you were all steeped

in the protocols of war! Nevertheless,

I agree that we will fight you singly.

So come out. Prepare to meet your death!”

Hearing this, Duryodhana stirred the water

and struggled, dripping, from the lake, his body

streaked with blood. His mace was in his hand.

“Shoulder this armor,” said Yudhishthira,

“and bind your hair; here is a well-made helmet.

Furthermore, you may choose your opponent.

And if you win, then you shall have the kingdom.”

“I am prepared to fight each one of you,”

roared Duryodhana, “and I shall kill you

one after another. No one can match me!”

While Duryodhana boasted in this way,

Krishna took Yudhishthira aside.

He was alight with anger. “You are mad!

By letting him decide his adversary

and promising the kingdom if he wins,

you’re gambling with your future—it’s as if

you’re back in the gaming hall, taking a chance!

Who but a fool would risk losing the kingdom

when it’s within his grasp? Duryodhana

is a master with the mace. All those years

when you were exiled in the forest, he

practiced every day against a statue

shaped like Bhima.

“Bhima’s your only hope.

He has enormous strength and stamina

but Duryodhana has the greater prowess,

and prowess always wins. None among you

is capable of beating Duryodhana

in a fair fight. We are in great danger,

thanks to your stupid gesture. It seems to me

the Pandavas were born to live in exile!”

Duryodhana chose to fight with Bhima,

the man he hated most in all the world.

Having heard Krishna reprove his brother,

Bhima said, “Krishna, you should not despair.

I have waited thirteen years for this,

living in torment, knowing that vile villain

was enjoying every luxury, while we

wandered in deerskins in the wilderness.

Duryodhana may have practiced with his mace,

but I have practiced with my mind, reliving

every iniquity that wretch committed.

Be happy, brother, today I shall regain

your kingdom—and restore my peace of mind.”

Krishna applauded him, “That is heartening talk!

But in fighting Duryodhana, take care

not to rely on strength and rage alone;

you will need all the skill at your command.”

The two cousins squared up to one another.

But at that very moment, Balarama,

Krishna’s older brother, was seen approaching.

A great mace warrior, he had been the teacher

of both Bhima and Duryodhana.

Before the war, rather than take sides,

he had gone on an extended pilgrimage

to the sacred fords. Now he had returned.

He suggested that the fight take place

at Samantapanchaka, part of the field

which was revered, in the domain of gods,

as the sacred northern altar of Lord Brahma.

Whoever died in battle there was certain

to go straight to heaven, to dwell with Indra.

The group set off, Duryodhana ill at ease

walking with his hated enemies.

The auspicious place chosen by Balarama

was beside the river. The ground was firm,

trees grew on the slope, providing shade

for the spectators. Then a formal challenge

was issued by Duryodhana, and all noticed

disturbing portents—fierce winds skittering

pebbles along the ground, clouds of dust,

thunder rumbling in a clear blue sky.

Bhima exulted, “This is a sure sign:

today Duryodhana will be defeated!

Today he will rest his head on the bare earth;

never again will he see his loving parents,

never enjoy the company of women.

Today the sufferings of the Pandavas

will be requited!”

Then the fight began.

Never were combatants more furious.

Half a lifetime’s hatred and resentment

went into every blow. They were well matched,

and each took special pleasure in the knowledge

that he was pitched against a worthy foe.

Both were beautiful in their massive strength,

their graceful footwork as they made their moves

dodging, defending, attacking, circling

in intricate maneuvers. When they clashed

sparks flew, the ground shook with the force of it.

Body blows drew torrents of blood, and made

the fighters reel and stagger; but that served

only to reinforce their strength of purpose.

“Who is doing better, in your view?”

Arjuna asked. “Bhima has strength,” said Krishna,

“but he will never win in a fair fight;

indeed, I see that he is struggling now.

He must bend the rules—especially

since Yudhishthira has been so foolish.”