The Thirteenth Day (13 page)

Finally, Bhagadatta stood up.

He looked into Suyodhana’s eyes and spoke, ‘I see in this august gathering Atirathis, Maharathis, great warriors of every nation—Gandharas, Kiratas, Kambojas, Pisachas, Yadavas, Trigartas, Pragjyotishas and Kurus. We have nothing to fear from the Indraprastha Chariots or Arjuna or Bhima, and I shall prove it to you tomorrow. Bhima’s death is on my head. Let no one come between us.’

Bhagadatta’s words took some of the lines off Suyodhana’s face.

He spoke softly, ‘Are you sure, sire?

‘Positive. I will show you children how it’s done.’

Tension is a pimple; confidence, a prick. The sabha tittered like little girls.

Shakuni spoke, ‘Bhima’s settled then. That leaves Arjuna. Radheya?’

A deep voice interrupted me.

‘Wait, please.’

We turned.

It was the king of the Trigartas, a man they called Susharma. I didn’t know much about him or his five brothers who had brought a few ankinis onto the field. Their motive for entering the war was some old feud with Arjuna. Susharma was a thin, humourless man, almost completely hairless except for a thin moustache that outlined his lip. For the most part he didn’t talk to anyone. If he had an opinion on the way the war was being fought, he kept it to himself.

‘I want Arjuna.’

Suyodhana and I looked at each other and then at Drona, who looked tiredly at the ground when he spoke.

‘And why do you think you’ll be able to do a better job of killing him than the lord of Anga who, for all his defects, is still a Maharathi?’

He spoke without emotion, but everyone in the room felt his intensity.

‘Arjuna plundered our lands. His men burned our cities, killed our people. We have come here not for your kingdom, but to avenge ours. We will not fail. Use our hatred.’

The sabha went silent.

Drona rubbed his eyes tiredly and nodded his approval.

Suyodhana spoke, ‘Right, so we’ll split forces. Lord Bhagadatta with the Trigartas will take out Bhima, Arjuna and the Indraprastha Corps. Guruji, Radheya, Kritavarma and I will go out and get Yudhishthira. The rest of you…’

While he assigned battle positions, I looked at Drona. He looked frail. Almost unwell.

Far too many combatants on either side of the war could not fight with any real hatred. I had heard from a frustrated Suyodhana that he suspected Grandsire of conveniently misfiring at the Pandavas on more than one occasion, shielded by the alibi of advancing age. I suspected Drona was a little sentimental about fighting Arjuna too. Before the war, he used to unashamedly call Arjuna his greatest pupil ever.

I sounded out Suyodhana after the council. ‘What’s with Drona? He seems upset.’

Suyodhana winced. He still wasn’t used to hearing his Guruji’s first name referred to so casually in conversation. I didn’t care. He wasn’t my Guru. In fact, both Drona and I had studied under the same master, Parashurama, Rama of the Axe. A Brahmin who had taken to the arts of war after his father had been murdered on a whim by a king. Eventually, Guruji learned to wield the axe well enough to take the king’s head in a duel. Even now his name was feared among the royalty, who were always looking nervously for hints of an uprising in their own kingdoms. Guruji had long since retired his killing axe and spent more time teaching young Brahmin men martial arts and self-defence. His ashram was outside the law of any kingdom, and all the kings of Bharatvarsha turned a blind eye to its activities, fearing an even greater uprising if something were to happen to him.

‘No, what’s wrong? He seems fine.’

‘Fine? He agreed with everything that was said today.’

‘Well, what’s not to agree with? The plan works, right?’

‘It’s good. I just felt he wasn’t all there today.’

‘He’s like that sometimes. I think the last few days have been a little rough for him.’

I nodded. No point worrying Suyodhana more than necessary. ‘You’re probably right. Let’s see tomorrow.’

Suyodhana was silent for a moment: ‘We’ll capture him. Take away their kingdom and kill them all anyway. I promise, Radheya.’

That said, he fumed off in the direction of his tent.

Finally Grandsire’s reason for letting me have the kingdom was clear. Neither Suyodhana nor Yudhishthira would leave each other alive if they came to the throne. I was probably the best chance for stability the Kurus had.

The thought left me cold.

A man was waiting for me outside my tent. It was Laxman, Suyodhana’s son, and my favourite student. He had studied under me for the past five years on his father’s insistence and had become an exceptional archer. He was only eighteen now but I was confident he would make all the kings of Bharatvarsha tremble in a few years. I would be one of them myself, I remembered, if Grandsire’s plan came into effect. Suyodhana, being occupied with more pressing concerns, had entrusted the job of looking after the boy’s safety to me. So I had kept him in the reserves for the past couple of days. Now he was chafing to come in front. Our conversation was brief. He told me he wanted to be in a fight, and I promised to include him nearer the killing tomorrow.

I watched him walk away, a slightly happier soul.

When I was a little younger than him, I had approached Drona’s academy in Hastinapura and had been turned away with the familiar excuse—‘Learn to drive a chariot, suta.’

So I had gone to Parashurama and lied to him about my background, calling myself a Brahmin and not a suta when I enrolled, and was accepted as his student. Soon I proved myself the best amongst his students and then became his favourite.

It was late in the evening that day. I was in the armoury, polishing arrowheads and returning them to their quivers.
A prolonged session of yoga next to an anthill had left me with bite marks all over my legs. Though I remember the red marks dotting my thighs, it isn’t the pain that I remember from that day.

He stood at the entrance to the armoury and spoke in a soft voice.

‘Radheya, are you the son of a charioteer?’

I pretended I didn’t know what he was talking about.

‘Guruji?’

‘Some of the other students claim that they have proof. I just want to know what the truth is.’

So I told him everything, including my humiliation at Drona’s military academy.

When I finished, he didn’t shout at me, like he did when I missed those targets on the training ground or forgot an important theorem.

‘Radheya, you have lied to me. If you had come and told me yourself, I may have considered otherwise. But to enter my school, my island of trust, and stay secure in the knowledge of my ignorance?’

I hung my head.

‘Leave, Radheya. And don’t show your face here ever again. Before you go, I’ll give you one final lesson. It will hold you good for life. Don’t betray a person’s trust to enter his life, or to leave it. If you forget this, everything I’ve ever taught you will come to naught.’

Would Laxman forgive me when I betrayed his father?

Varahamira and Shatrujeet interrupted my thoughts. They had some interesting news. A nasty rumour was spreading through the camp that the Great War was a conspiracy; that it had been started to purge humanity of all its male members leaving only a few kings to start a new master race. The real objective of this war was to wipe out the foot soldiers and low-class nobility to clear the road for the princes.

If only they knew. The Pandavas were married into the Panchalas, the Matsyas and the Yadavas. The three biggest kingdoms in Bharatvarsha were joined together in an alliance that made all the other kingdoms a little less sure of their legacy. This wasn’t, as the bards still proclaimed, a war to reclaim Draupadi’s honour and the Pandavas’ birthright. It was the only way to protect our kingdoms from an empire that would swallow us whole.

I had a question for them before they left.

‘Any news on my bounty?’

They looked at each other. Shatrujeet grinned.

‘Two chests of silver and one of gold, my Lord.’

Grandsire’s bounty had been four chests of gold and Arjuna’s three.

Not bad for a first day.

The torches were out in camp when they left. Except in the north, where the Trigarta quarter lay.

I
stood ahead of my brothers to offer our condolences for Drupada’s loss.

As the eldest, I had to be the first in line to perform all the unpleasant tasks, shielding my brothers from the awkwardness such encounters inevitably yield.

Being the eldest also meant that I had to take full blame for all the family’s misfortunes. Posterity would remember me as the man who let his wife be disgraced in public. But no one would even think of blaming my siblings for not storming the sabha that day and killing Sushasana.

Drupada looked through me when I spoke and walked out of the council meeting when I had finished.

Krishna advised us to begin without him. Dhristadyumna’s heart was not in it. He just sat down with his head hung. Shikhandi was in no mood to talk as well. Virata was grimacing in pain every few moments and Chekitana did not have the authority to begin a discussion. It fell on me to steer the council.

‘Our information was correct. It appears the Kauravas want to take me captive.’

Virata spoke through gritted teeth, ‘We were lucky today. Drona had us. If Arjuna hadn’t made it, we would be making conditions for your release by now.’

Arjuna nodded in acknowledgement.

So Arjuna saves the day again. I was grateful, of course. Or at least I did a good job pretending. Inside I was throwing a tantrum. I loved Arjuna. But just once I wished I could get the chance to save his bones. Bhima, Arjuna, even Nakula and Sahadeva were more responsible for my protection than I, the head of the family, was for theirs.

Our great-grandfather was a man called Shantanu. He was the undisputed king of the Kurus, and the most powerful man in Bharatvarsha in his times.

He had three sons—Devadatta, Vichitravirya and Chitrangada.

Chitrangada died in a battle with the Gandharas and it was left to Devadatta and Vichitravirya to produce offspring and take the lineage forward.

Devadatta did not have any children. Maybe the idea itself did not appeal to him. But that didn’t stop the bards from singing glowingly about him making a vow of celibacy to his father so that the rule of the land passed to Vichitravirya, Shantanu’s favourite son.

Despite this there were other things to keep young Devadatta occupied. He went on a rampage, destroying armies, plundering towns and cities, bringing entire countries to their knees and expanding the Kuru kingdom to much of its present glory while Vichitravirya looked after affairs at home.

Devadatta became Bhishma, the terrible one.

And Vichitravirya married not one, but two women.

His first wife gave birth to a blind child—Dhritrashtra. His second gave birth to our father, Pandu.

Despite being younger, Pandu was considered heir to the throne and was trained in the arts of war and statecraft.

Dhritrashtra was neglected.

When Vichitravirya died, Pandu became king, and together with his Uncle Bhishma, took the Kuru empire places it had never been. Bhishma never sought the throne, being more a puppet master than a puppet. Pandu married my mother Kunti, and then took another wife, Madri, from the Madra kingdom to strengthen our alliance with them.

Then, one day, he gave it all up.

The decision surprises the entire family till today. He was on a hunt, and killed a deer somewhat brutally. The anger in its eyes as it lay there dying changed something in my father. He went straight back and informed Grandsire Bhishma of his decision to give up the throne and all his material belongings and head to the forest to meditate on the nature of the world. Naturally his wives would come with him.

All five of us were born in the forest and spent our early years there. My father was a man seeking answers, and from whatever little I can remember, he was always going on about truth and maya.

When I was around eight, Father died.

He simply collapsed one day while he was with Madri. No one knows for certain what happened, though the bards say all sorts of slanderous things. But Madri was so stricken by his death, she killed herself. This left my mother Kunti with three children of her own, and two of Madri’s. She had no choice but to return to the palace. Bhishma welcomed us with open arms, and insisted that my brothers and I treat him like a grandfather as the other Kuru princes did.

In the meantime, Uncle Dhritrashtra married the queen of the Gandharas, and gave birth to a son, Suyodhana; and ran through all the noblewomen in Hastinapura producing many offspring, all of whom he loved and cared for and brought up at the royal palace. His reputation as a goat found its way into bawdy poems that claimed he was the father of a hundred offspring, which may not have been far from the truth. While I had seen many, there were apparently entire palaces filled with them in Hastinapura.

When we came onto the scene, Bhishma wanted us, more specifically me as Pandu’s eldest, to be the supreme authority in Kuru lands.

That wasn’t what Dhritrashtra or Suyodhana had in mind.