The Thirteenth Day (14 page)

What followed were years of trying to undermine each other, assassination attempts, a game of dice, and finally this—a war to end all wars.

Virata interrupted my thoughts, ‘Tomorrow we shall have more troops in Yudhishthira’s protection…just to be sure.’

‘Yudhishthira’s protection’? What did he think of himself? He was the one who needed protection, the old washcloth. I was about to protest in the strongest words my education had provided me with when Krishna interrupted.

‘Not that you need any added protection, Yudhishthira, but who knows? If we get a chance to single out Guruji or Radheya or Suyodhana or any of their kings, it may improve our chances. Think of yourself as a decoy, not a victim.’

The tent opened. Drupada walked in slowly to his place and sat down with great effort. He looked me in the eyes and spoke in a hard voice, ‘I’d like to apologize for excusing myself from the meeting.’

Krishna spoke gently, ‘No apology is required, sire. Your son fought bravely. We will all pray for his soul.’

Drupada’s presence gave strength to Dhristadyumna who started, ‘We began the day taking losses from the Pragjyotisha elephants. Arjuna went quite deep into the enemy’s right flank before, er, Shikhandi’s message reached him.’

‘Message?’ This was new.

‘When I saw Drona in the front, I sent a courier to Arjuna to help us out in the centre with his chariots. We couldn’t have fought off Drona without him.’

I marvelled at this. Arjuna was a better chariot archer than Guruji, owing to his relative youth. But to bind the day’s successes to one man when thousands had perished to hold the line?

Arjuna spoke, ‘The Kaurava flank was weak today. It took Krishna no time to get across their ranks. By the way, I met Suyodhana today, brother. Left him alive for you.’

Bhima nodded wryly, ‘Oh? Well, God bless you for that.’

Bhima and Arjuna shared a macabre camaraderie which I thankfully would never be a part of.

Shikhandi spoke, ‘Abhimanyu acquitted himself well today. He fought Shalya, a couple of minor princes and Jayadratha.’

‘Jayadratha?’ This came from Arjuna, though the same question must have passed through the minds of each of us five brothers.

‘Yes, the king of the Sindhus. Why?’

Bhima laughed. ‘Jayadratha? I thought he’d be too scared to see us again.’

I explained to the council in less abstract terms, ‘Jayadratha had tried to kidnap Draupadi when we were in exile. Unsuccessfully.’

We had met quite a few characters in our thirteen years of exile. Jayadratha was one of them. He met us at a hunting expedition close to a forest where we had set up camp. He must have seen Draupadi at the site, and started pursuing her with an earnestness that was inspired by lust. Bhima caught him trying to sneak into her quarters and we sent him back to his men gagged and tied, with the hair shaved off his head. In normal circumstances we would have just killed him and let the dogs eat his body, but princes in exile without an army cannot take such liberties.

‘So he returns seeking vengeance? In any case, Abhimanyu bloodied his nose. You should be proud.’

We were. And I believe, each as proud as Arjuna, who merely nodded, avoiding any emotion in respect of Drupada’s loss. In spite of the fact that we hadn’t seen him grow up in Dwaraka, the boy had an exuberance that lit up any company that he kept. He was the best of the Yadavas and the Kurus, a future king of kings, a maharajadhiraj for Bharatvarsha one day.

‘He is talented. That is certain. But Abhimanyu does not, um, respect the sanctity of instruction. He didn’t stay in the reserves today. Shikhandi, you should have been more forceful with him,’ said Dhristadyumna.

‘It’s all right. I let him go. No use keeping a young man out of a fight. He should be in the front.’

‘The council made its decision yesterday. You could have told us then.’

‘Maybe I changed my mind.’

Dhristadyumna glared at his sister. ‘Maybe you should listen to your commander-in-chief.’

The entire council joined in to calm the two down.

Krishna spoke, ‘My Lords, forget about all of this. The day’s action is over. Let’s plan for tomorrow. I agree with you, Shikhandi, we should put the boy up front. He will be valuable in the coming days, and suspending him or putting him in the back will not help our cause. But the young lout needs a little spanking. As commander-in-chief, this is far below Dhristadyumna’s purview. Arjuna, please do what’s needed.’

Arjuna nodded.

Clean. In a few words, Krishna had made Shikhandi look like a visionary and soothed Dhristadyumna’s ego.

We spent the rest of the meeting discussing tactics.

F
ather waited patiently outside my tent till my servant informed me of his presence. He didn’t need to, of course, but Father wouldn’t enter any man’s tent without prior permission. I went out to greet him, and for the hundredth time, scolded him mildly for not treating my tent as his own.

He came straight to the point.

‘Shikhandi tells me you fought well today.’

‘Killed a prince or two, defeated the king of the Sindhus and rattled Uncle Shalya. Nothing great.’

‘Weren’t you supposed to be in the reserves?’ he said softly.

Father never raised his voice to discipline me, unlike Mother. But to mend fences with him was also a great deal harder.

He continued, ‘You know, in any other army, you would have been executed.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I expected more from you. It’s been eleven days now. Tomorrow, you will apologize to the council. If they accept, you will fight and stay put where you’re told, if you’re allowed to fight at all.’

He couldn’t be serious. I could do more damage to the Kauravas single-handedly than most of the council put together. They weren’t actually going to send me home in the middle of the battle? I couldn’t tell if he was bluffing but I didn’t want to take a chance.

‘I’m sorry if I offended anyone. I will apologize.’

That relieved him. He smiled awkwardly, ‘So, I heard you killed a nobleman from the north today.’

‘I beat the king of Sindhu too.’

‘Jayadratha?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Shikhandi had good things to say. So did Virata.’

‘That’s kind of them.’

‘You’ve just begun to create a reputation. To see it come apart, because you couldn’t hold your bow in the reserves for one day, would be unfortunate. This is not an exercise for fame like the Ashvamedha. Dying will not win you glory. Surviving will give us a kingdom.’

That was all. Father kept his speeches short. Imparting wisdom embarrassed him. After looking at me awkwardly for a few moments, he went away. Typical Father, complimenting me with the words of others.

We never had a chance to get close. For most of the first eight years he was away on some war or the other and then he disappeared for thirteen years on exile.

Mother took complete control of my education. When I informed her that I wanted to take up the bow and be a warrior just like my father, she couldn’t have been happier.

That is when I began practising. ‘Drilling’ is closer to the truth. I practised from dawn till late evening when the fireflies came out. ‘Extra time in training won’t kill you, and it won’t get you killed either’ was what Mother firmly told anyone who thought that I was spending too much time at the akhara.

It seemed I was eating every waking moment of the day. Almonds in the morning with watermelons or bananas or mangoes depending on the season; a whole roast chicken for lunch along with the staple dry wheat bread of warriors, baatis in the evening and more roast meat for dinner.

In between all this there were potions made of tulsi or neem or karela depending on what the latest craze was among the palace physicians. And there were sweets—laddoos of jaggery and barley, chunks of solid khoya and sweetened milk. Whatever the maids were able to sneak in to contribute to the cause of making the young prince grow up and become king quickly.

By the time I turned thirteen, I looked twenty.

That was the year my education truly began. I had been rudely woken up before dawn by Mother’s handmaiden and summoned immediately to the royal garden. It was the middle of summer and the scent of mango and dew-wet leaves stuck to the air like it always did in the humid summers of Dwaraka.

Mother was sitting there with Uncle Krishna and a young man with a physique that most would attribute to yogis in tapasya rather than warriors. He wore a green dhoti and had a grey shawl across his shoulders.

‘Ah, so the young warrior finally arrives to save the day.’

I stuck my tongue out at my uncle and was cuffed around the head by Mother.

He continued, ‘Putra, we’re all delighted to see the effort you’re putting into your practice. And while your trainers have done competently, both your mother and I feel that perhaps you require a more, how shall I put it, professional edge to your lessons. Meet your new Guru, Pradyumna.’

The young man stood up and smiled shyly at me. ‘Guru makes me feel old. Call me by my name.’

He became my mentor and more of a Guru to me than he’d care to admit.

He taught me governance, statecraft and economics through drama, poetry and literature. I learnt the twelve principles of taxation in the form of quartrains ending with vowels; the duties of a warrior in a two-act play and the four types of soil in the form of a debate between mud and manure.

More importantly, he taught me how to use the bow in a team of warriors and how to organize an attack and a defence on the battlefield and the intricacies of siegecraft.

Three years of being his shishya prepared me for the rest of my life.

A
bhimanyu made a long apology to Dhristadyumna, placing the blame, as elders would to boys his age, on youth and lack of patience. The rest of us sat in our places, conscious of his desperation. Old Virata smiled, probably remembering his own reckless self ages ago.

He overdid it a little, making Dhristadyumna sound like our sole hope at Kurukshetra, calling him a peerless commander and a senapati of unrelenting vigour and brilliance who was leading us, undoubtedly, to the shores of victory. The cause would be bereft without his counsel so could he find it in his heart to forgive Abhimanyu’s stupidity and excess of energy?

We heard him out patiently, and when he was done, Dhristadyumna nodded and turned to the council.

‘My Lords, given, er, the circumstances we find ourselves in now, it would be unwise to suspend or remove Abhimanyu from the field. It’s clear that he understands the implications of his disobedience yesterday. However, er, I still believe punishment is due.’

The rest of the council nodded. Abhimanyu lowered his head in acceptance.

‘I, uh, with the council’s permission, would have Abhimanyu stripped off his rank as ankini commander. He will fight as a common chariot warrior today.’

Abhimanyu relaxed and Dhristadyumna looked at him sharply, making him straighten up again.

Rank had no meaning for the boy as long as he was out there in front; so much his father’s son.

‘Having said that, I also feel that his talents for uncivilized conduct have been under-utilized…er, so I would have him in the front today with his father.’

The council dismissed Abhimanyu, assigning his troops to Shikhandi for the day.

Dhristadyumna spoke again, ‘We’ve received no news of importance today. Just the regular numbers…a lot of elephants got killed yesterday. The Kauravas should be holding them back today. So, I suppose that
is
good news. I expect Radheya’s chariots to be in the front. If they still mean to capture you Yudhishthira, I suppose Drona, Radheya, Suyodhana or, uh, Kritavarma and Shalya will play a role. A Chandrakala should do the job.’

Chandrakala was a crescent-shaped formation. Offense would be concentrated on the edges of the crescent while the centre would be deployed behind the rim where the front line stood. No surprises. Dhristadyumna wanted to keep me snug in the back.

‘Uh, like yesterday, our focus will be on protecting Yudhishthira. Arjuna can push from the right flank. Chekitana from the left. The Panchalas, the Yadavas and Matsyas will make up the centre. Yudhishthira, er, you will be behind us. Your chariot will be personally protected by Satyajit and Vrika.’