The next day, Gandhari heard the tumult as a party was being organized for an expedition. She frowned. Usually, a trip like that required a fair amount of planning and coordination, to bring together the chariots and food for one hundred of her sons, their friends and attendants. No such excursion had been planned for today. She summoned Duryodhana to inquire about what was happening.
His voice was uncomfortable, as it always was when he lied. He was fidgety and his words came out fast, tripping over themselves. ‘We are going out to inspect the cattle, Mother. This is an important duty of the king, as you know, as you have taught me. We must look after the interests of our subjects, to protect our treasures, including our cattle. We are going to the ghoshas, the cattle stations, to inspect and brand the cattle. We shall be visiting all corners of the kingdom to ensure our subjects are prospering, as you have always bid us to do, Mother.’
Gandhari was suspicious. ‘And why is Karna needed for such an excursion? He his own kingdom to tend to, the kingdom you had given him.’ She reminded him pointedly.
Duryodhana’s voice was wounded. ‘He is my friend and companion. Wherever I go, he comes with me. Do not seek to divide us, Mother.’
Gandhari gentled her voice. ‘I am not, son. But I do not think you would bring such a large party simply to inspect cattle. What are your real plans?’
Duryodhana exhaled deeply. ‘If you must know, I wish very much to see the Pandavas for myself. I want to see their condition.’
Her voice sharpened: ‘You want to see their suffering for yourself? Is it not enough to know they have been in exile for all of these years? Is that not enough to give you solace?’
He was peeved: ‘I tell you, Mother, even if I vanquish and kill them in war, that shall not give me the satisfaction of seeing them in this state, wearing bark, eating scraps off the forest floor. Just one moment’s glimpse will bring more joy to my soul than ruling over the entire earth.’
‘This is beneath you, son. This is not proper regard for your cousins. This is not dharmic. It is petty and vengeful. Acting on such wrong impulses will never bring the victory or satisfaction you seek.’
Duryodhana groaned. ‘You are a soft woman after all, Mother. Women cannot understand such things. You are too full of feeling. You do not understand what it is to be a king.’
Her voice stiffened. ‘Is it? And what is it that your father has to say about all this?’
Duryodhana replied huffily, ‘He thinks it is a very fine thing to inspect and count the cattle. It is an important duty of kings and he wholeheartedly approves of this. He understands such things. You do not!’
Gandhari snorted but could not come up with the words to dissuade him.
Duryodhana stomped out, quickly joining his brothers and Karna so they could be on their way.
They were gone for weeks. It gave Gandhari a brief respite; a palace finally at peace and in silence, days free from cooking and feeding her brood of over a hundred. She took slow walks in the gardens. In the past, she would have been joined by Ayla or Satyavati, or even, at times Kunti, but they were all gone now. Well, Kunti was nearby in Vidura’s home but rarely came out. She did not miss Kunti, but she sorely missed Satyavati, and whenever she thought of Ayla, a sharp pain entered her heart, a potent poisonous mix of hurt, betrayal and a terrible longing for her companionship. It was too painful to dwell on so she concentrated on Satyavati. That was a bearable pain.
She wondered if Satyavati lived still. There was no word from the forest to which she had retired. When one lived the life of a renunciate, there was no longer the connection with the past, with one’s old family, no compulsion to share or receive news. Gandhari hoped for her sake that Satyavati had passed on, that she did not run the risk of hearing about the dire state of affairs of the Kuru clan, the war threatening to break apart the dynasty, the clash of her great-grandsons against each other. She had given so much of her life to trying to protect the family she had married into; she should not have to witness its destruction. How wise Vyasa had been to send her away.
Selfishly, though, Gandhari wished Satyavati was still here. She could perhaps have accomplished what Gandhari could not. She, who had successfully controlled Shantanu and Bhishma, perhaps could have controlled Duryodhana and Karna. She perhaps would have known what to say to dissuade Duryodhana from his foolhardy acts. She would not have stayed quiet in the assembly-hall when Draupadi had been disrobed.
Gandhari felt terribly alone. Kunti and Draupadi could call on Krishna. Satyavati could call on Dvaipayana. But Gandhari had nobody.
One day, when it was twilight, the hour of dusk, when the sacred fire was being rekindled, the scent of incense wafting through the air, and she was reflecting thus, the quiet patter of footsteps entered into her chamber, intruding upon her thoughts. She frowned.
The figure knelt in front of her hesitantly, his hulking frame blocking the orange glow of the oil lamps in the sconces in the wall. He said gently, ‘Mother, I have come to ask for your help.’
Gandhari was relieved. It was Karna. So close were he and Duryodhana that he called her his mother, as if they were brothers, as if indeed what was one’s was the other’s, too. ‘What is it, Karna?’
‘Your son needs you. Duryodhana. He is threatening to commit suicide.’
‘Suicide!’ she exclaimed. It was so preposterous that she almost laughed. Duryodhana, so full of vim and vigour, so restless, so frenzied, how could that Duryodhana be given to thoughts of suicide? But Karna was not the joking type. She steadied herself. ‘What has happened, Karna? Tell me at once.’
‘The Gandharvas attacked us while we were inspecting the ghoshas. We fought a brave battle but they defeated us roundly and kidnapped us. Then the sons of Pandu, at Yudhishthira’s command, fought the Gandharvas to rescue us and set us free. The Gandharvas fought against them only half-heartedly, since their commander was great friends with Arjuna. That one, Chitrasena, expressed surprise that the Pandavas were fighting them, since he had only kidnapped us to bring pleasure to the Pandavas. Arjuna told him that if he wanted to please the Pandavas, he should set his cousins, the Kauravas, free as they were still his kin. Chitrasena agreed and thus we were set free. Duryodhana is so distraught and humiliated at having to be rescued by the Pandavas that he has sat on the ground, vowing to fast unto death.’
Gandhari’s heart thudded painfully. I had told him this would end in disaster. Why does he never listen?
‘Take me to him at once.’
It took a long time to reach Duryodhana’s side, and on the way, Gandhari was fervently in prayer that she would not be too late. She reached the field as evening fell, as campfires dotted the landscape, warming her body as she walked towards him, led by Karna. All her sons were there, along with their companions, soldiers, attendants and ministers. Duryodhana was sitting on the field, on a bed of darbha grass, having touched the water to solemnize the vow to fast unto death. There was a growing frenzy around him as his followers and friends realized this was not a passing moment of pique – he actually meant to do this. Gandhari heard the mutterings of some of the men, scoffing at her son’s weakness, his febrility of mind. Her cheeks warmed in embarrassment. This was not good. He needed to inspire strength in his leadership now more than ever, not cause his followers to question his soundness of mind.
Suicide was a sin, and even worse, it was a sign of weakness. Gandhari sat down next to Duryodhana. She whispered to the others, ‘Leave us,’ and they obeyed immediately, dispersing so that only silence surrounded her and her son.
Gandhari placed a hand on his broad back, feeling the sighs heaving through his body. ‘Son, you must not yield to such unmanliness.’
‘It is not unmanliness, Mother! I promise you, I am not a coward. I would gladly fight the Pandavas in battle again and again if I had the chance until one of us were finally destroyed. But I never get the chance at a clean fight, Mother! Never! Again and again I plot for their demise, it is true, I do. But again and again I am thwarte
d, not in a clean fight with them, but through the worst kind of luck, by my own incompetence, and again they laugh at me and mock me. Like they did when I fell into that fake pool in their palace of delusions. What is intolerable, Mother, is their mockery and contempt. How Arjuna lorded it over me, when he freed us from the Gandharvas! As if we were women in need of rescue. They will not come out and fight me but they will insult my pride and humiliate me again and again. It is intolerable!
‘Better I die, Mother, than suffer this kind of humiliation anymore. A kshatriya is nothing without his pride and glory intact. After today, I have lost all my glory. I have lost my pride.’
She rubbed his back, wishing she could hold him and cradle him in her lap like she did in those days of yore, when he was nothing more than an adorable baby who would contentedly cuddle with her for hours. Even then he was restless. He never slept, always pumping his fists in the air, fighting imaginary battles. But he had been hers. All hers.
‘But, son, it is you who have won. You who rule over the earth. You who has defeated them in the game of dice. You who sleep in the palace while they live in the forest, dressed in deerskin. You who has won and driven them away from their ancestral home, again and again.’
Duryodhana’s voice was thick, clogged with indignation. ‘And yet they keep coming back, Mother. Why? They lived happily in the mountains. These sons of devas, students of the rishis, companions of the Gandharvas. We are mere humans. What was the need for them to come to my home, to take away my throne? Their father was not there in Hastinapur all those years. He had gone away. It was my father who ruled the kingdom, my father who stayed back home and protected the throne. It was I who was born in Hastinapur, who was trained to rule it. And even now they say, Mother, I am a good administrator, I am an able king. No one faults my reign! They had gone away. They should have stayed away! If they got anything from us, they got it as alms, through our own generosity!’
‘If you give up your life, son, they would have defeated you. Rise, Duryodhana! If you want victory, you must arise.’
He grunted: ‘I am not stupid, Mother. I see how helpless it is. I am not like Father, in hiding and in denial. I see that they are protected by the devas. I see that they have the powers and might of the celestial ones, that they are truly the sons of the devas. I see that I will suffer indignity again and again when I challenge them, when I fight them. I see that the best of all those who roam this earth are supporting them and wish for my defeat. I see all this, Mother, and I no longer want to live.’
She thought about it then. She thought about letting him go. She thought about Vidura’s words – that in Duryodhana’s death lay the salvation of the Kuru dynasty, that his destruction was the only answer. How easy would it be to let him go now, to let him continue down the path he had chosen of suicide. She knew then it would all resolve itself; the world would set itself right, the threads of karma would harmonize and knit themselves peaceably around the hole his demise would leave in the warp of fate. The Pandavas would rule but be merciful and compassionate towards them. There would be reconciliation. She could live in such a world, a queen who no longer was. For a moment, her heart eased itself of the burden of being the mother of the sons who would cause the destruction of the lineage, of millions of lives, the entire breadth of Bharat. For a moment, the guilt, the regret, the remorse ebbed away and she was clean of the taint of her son. She could live in a world without her son. She could.
How easy it would be to not have to act, to not have to say a word. She did not have to do a thing. Only let nature take its course; only let fate lead him away into the afterlife; only indulge her son in his final wishes, as she always did.
Almost she did it. Almost.
Then, she heard it. That small, choked sob emitting out of her son’s trembling lips. His pain. The intensity of his hurt. And she could not bear it. All her resolve, all her resignation melted in the fire of fierce maternal love, the determination to see her son happy, to see him live even at the cost of her soul.
She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, but his shoulders were so broad and heavily muscled, that she had to wrap her arm around his neck instead, tugging him towards her. He did not resist, resting his head on her shoulder, his long mane of hair tickling her chin. He sighed heavily. She had told her daughter-in-law, Bhanumati, the day she married Duryodhana, that her son was like a baby and that she should never be frightened of him. He may have a wicked temper and may yell and throw things, but he was like a puppy who could easily be soothed with a hug and gentle words. He was fierce to his enemies but kind to his friends. Bhanumati laughed happily, touching Gandhari’s feet for her blessings before marrying her son. She was an impeccable wife, who brought a happiness to Duryodhana’s life that Gandhari had not thought possible. He adored and fawned over his bride, and Gandhari could not imagine a better wife for her son. Kunti and Draupadi had their fights and tension, but Gandhari would have given the moon to Bhanumati, would defer to her on anything for the happiness she brought her son. Belatedly, Gandhari wondered why Karna had not called Bhanumati to come to her son instead of her. Perhaps he knew that it was Gandhari’s iron, her strength, that Duryodhana needed at that moment, her fathomless depth of will-power.
Duryodhana pulled away, sitting up straight again. ‘You do not know how I suffer, Mother. You cannot imagine. The sting of always being second, always being one step behind, always being one rung below the Pandavas, never being good enough. Always they are the best of things. I am nothing mediocre. But there is never glory for the one who is second. You do not know my pain, Mother.’
Gandhari hesitated. It was not something of which she had spoken to anybody in all those long years since, but perhaps it was the only way to save her son. She inhaled deeply and said softly, ‘I do, son. I do. I, too, have suffered like you. I, too, was brought to this house as the secondary bride. I was the first of the two wives to be pregnant, but then Kunti gave birth before me. Always I was overshadowed by her. For two years, I bore you before you were born. I was haunted by nightmares of you and your brothers wanting to be born, but I was unable to give birth, to bring you into this world soon enough. Son, I thought you would never be born, that I had lost you. So lost in grief was I that I struck my belly, to end things, for myself and for you. But I did not. I lived.
‘And that was the one thought that remained inside me, the one idea to which I clung to in those years of bearing you, those years of watching over you as you finally came to life. Let him live. Even when they tried to take you away from me later, I did not let you go, son. I held onto you. I cried out, “Let him live!”
‘Oh, my son! I have given my life for you to live, despite all the odds, despite those who have opposed us again and again. That life that I have fought so hard for, that I protected with my own, how can you give that up so easily, so soon?’
Duryodhana’s voice was choked with tears and he hugged her hard. His arms had grown so strong through the mace training; they held her in a vice-like grip. ‘I swear to you, Mother, your struggles will not have been for naught. I will bring you the honour you deserve! You shall be the mother of a king without second. I promise you this, Mother! We are the ones who fight and struggle for everything we have been given. I shall win the heavens for you. I will not squander this life you fought so hard to save. You will be the queen whose name is remembered and glorified in the ages to come. I will bring you honour, Mother. I will!’ He stroked her face gently. ‘How beautiful you are, Mother, and you cannot even see it! There shall be no queen more regal, more graceful, more powerful than you!’
They sat together in silence for some time. The sky darkened to black all around them. In the darkness, Duryodhana asked, ‘Mother, you pray so much. Who is it that you pray to? Is it the devas?’
Gandhari was startled. ‘Well, of course it is the devas, Duryodhana! Who else would I pray to?’
His voice turned low and quiet. ‘There are others who can be worshipped, Mother. Others who answer
prayers more quickly. Have the devas ever answered your prayers, Mother?’
‘Of course, they have, son! You were born because of the blessings of the devas.’
He chuckled softly. ‘Shakuni Mama says that they tricked you, that they are always tricking us and our kind. But there are – others, who smile upon us, who bestow our wishes as soon as we ask it of them.’
Gandhari grew panicked and alarmed. ‘You should not listen to everything your uncle says,’ she admonished in a voice sharper than she had intended.
His voice was eerie in its depth of conviction. ‘But he is right. He prayed to them and see how the dice responded to him. He controls the dice through the powers bestowed upon him by the demons and dark ones, the daityas. They are protecting us even now. He has taught me, too, Mother.’ His voice softened to a whisper. ‘I have learned how to worship the demons.’
Gandhari wanted to shake him. ‘Son, this is madness! They are demons. They bring only destruction and darkness. Do not trust them!’
He was unruffled: ‘Mother, before you came, I had a dream, a vision. This gorgeous creature, this demoness, came to me from the fire. There were hordes of them, the asuras, crowding the field. She told me I would fight and I would win, that I would defeat the Pandavas. She said the asuras would spread, invade the bodies of Bhishma, Drona, Kripa and the others, to bring them under our sway. She said many other things, too, Mother, but all I remember, all that has stayed with me, is that I shall fight and defeat the Pandavas.
‘And then you came, Mother, and you gave me the strength I needed, the encouragement, to find my resolve. Yes, I shall arise. I will not give into cowardice and defeatism. I will fight and defeat the Pandavas. Oh, Mother! You are the one who has made the asura’s words come true!’
The Curse of Gandhari Page 24
