“So do we all then,” said Eldest. We nodded and murmured our assent.
We had seven days to recruit all able-bodied men, to equip our standing army, to organize supplies, and to build a protective wall around Upaplavya. Within the kingdom every armourer, grain merchant, priest, gold- and silversmith, weapon and flag manufacturer, mason and carpenter, physician and surgeon was working overtime. Cooks were recruited and the treasury was instructed to pay extra allowances to the standing professional army so that soldiers could make provisions for their families.
On the eve of our departure Dhaumya lit the sacrificial fire in a special kite-shaped pit which he said the Shastras decree for great wars. We were all present at this solemn moment and as Dhaumya chanted a war hymn to Durga, I watched the light of the flames playing on Eldest’s face. It radiated determination. During the thirteen years of our exile Yudhishthira had never given vent to anger and though I had never raged at him like Bheema and Draupadi, there had been times when I thought the forest had claimed him, that he had become a yogi and would never know how to exercise his kingly Dharma again. Unlike us, he had not taken a vow of revenge and even our mother had sent Krishna back with messages that he was failing in his duty as a king. Tonight I realized he had never lost his vision of the alternative to peace. He did not once falter in his organization and was as ready for battle as though he had spent every minute of the thirteen years studying war organization and military tactics. It was with the strength and skill of Bheema and Arjuna that everyone tried to frighten Duryodhana into peace, but it was Eldest’s self-control that had saved us when we had all drunk the water of the lake. Was this how Eldest had looked in Karna’s dream when, sitting on a pile of skeletons, he had eaten the sweets which proclaimed our victory? Calm and determined? In this moment I never doubted but that he would be the emperor again. The mission for which Krishna and I had come to earth would be accomplished, but, with eighteen akshauhinis from all over Bharatavarsha and all their leading warriors fighting, the flower of our race would disappear from the face of the earth. All that would be left of the warriors would be legends of their fine deeds sung by their family bards with only the woman folk and the children and a few very old men to hear them. How right Eldest had been to seek peace. Tomorrow at dawn we would be marching northeast towards the battle ground of Kurukshetra. Knowing that we would be fighting on the opposite side to Greatfather and Ashwatthama, to Duryodhana and Kripacharya, my heart misgave me and I was glad of the hymns to Mother Durga that were chanted to strengthen us.
By the time we were ready to set out, every foot soldier, every horseman, every war elephant, and every chariot warrior was fully equipped down to the last jewel on the elephants’ foreheads. We made straight for the battleground only, bypassing hermitages, pilgrimage sites, and other holy places. Yudhishthira called a halt on a grassy stretch by the side of a river. There were trees for wood and shade. Birds sang and it was a pleasant resting place for the men. Leaving the main army there, Eldest and I went with Dhrishtadyumna and Satyaki in search of our base camp. This we found where the river Hiranvati was clear and streaming. I left it to Dhrishtadyumna and Satyaki to decide on the number and pattern of distribution of tents while I tried to put my mind into digging trenches around the camping ground. Once, looking down, I thought I saw inside the trench the bodies of Ashwatthama and Greatfather, his white beard stained with rusty blood. I looked up, but all about were only great white birdlike tents whose flags and pennants waved in the wind.
The engineers set to building the pre-ordained six roads and four gates of our camp as ordained, three running east-west and three north-south. Yudhishthira’s tent was pitched in the central-north region facing south, and the royal treasury and the administrative headquarters were south of his tent. The commanders formed a core around him and we were encircled by four tiers of soldiers. The traders and camp followers were accommodated on the side of the main road. On the perimeter were the conch blowers, signallers, and guards. All was almost ready for war, but it was not until we saw Sahadeva of Magadha lead his division across the plains to join us that my heart lifted to it.
As the Magadhan army approached, the excellence of their robes and armour astonished us and I remembered with excitement the quality of steel and worked silver that we had seen in the shops of Magadha when long ago, before our exile, we had gone to kill Sahadeva’s father Jarasandha. It seemed like another life. Sahadeva lifted his conch to his lips and blew. His last note was cut into by the blare of all his generals’ conches. The sound rent the sky and our beings. It was a heartwarming thing to welcome friends who come to your aid. For a lesser spirit two decades might have been a long time to remember Krishna’s generosity. Krishna and Sahadeva fell into each other’s arms. The Magadhans’ strangely wrought helmets sat low on the forehead so that all that could be seen was their smiles. They had already taken a vow of war celibacy and drunk the juice of the Soma.
When Ghatotkacha arrived from the south with an akshauhini, it was a family reunion. He had brought gifts of jewels and corals and some furry little creatures I had never seen. He made us forget we were going to war.
We were reminded by the arrival of our spies.
Duhshasana, it was reported, had become nervous: “Why do we allow Krishna to be Arjuna’s charioteer?”
Duryodhana had replied: “Why ever not? When it comes to the duel with Karna, we shall ask Shalya of Madra to be his charioteer. He is better than Krishna. As long as Shalya is not asked to harm those gorgeous twin nephews, he is our man.”
Shakuni had said: “I’m not sure about that, Duryodhana. I know an akshauhini is an akshauhini, but Shalya is a fool or he wouldn’t have fallen into your trap in the first place. I can’t quite trust him, but that’s beside the point. We can’t stop Krishna from being Arjuna’s charioteer, and I admit I don’t like it.”
“That’s what I say,” said Duhshasana. “What if he opens his mouth again and hypnotizes us!”
Shakuni had snapped: “You speak like one of our superstitious old mountain women. If he opens his mouth we’ll shoot arrows into it.”
“Greatfather will start blabbering that we cannot kill charioteers,” said Duryodhana. “He has also been hypnotized by Krishna. Even Balarama will not lift a finger to help us because of Krishna. If we could capture Krishna, we could finish them off and go back to our wives in a couple of days.”
Karna said contemptuously, “Krishna has occult powers but it is stupid to sit around talking of how he may use them. Yudhishthira is the supreme commander and he is more attached to his Dharma and his reputation than to life itself. He will observe the rules of war. If only Bheeshma agrees to the crocodile formation on the first day, I cannot see how with only seven akshauhinis they can withstand us. But Bheeshma wants the great bird formation. If I could take the field for you, Duryodhana!”
“Take it, take it, it is yours.”
“Not while Greatfather lives.”
There were other non-conclusive conversations reported of what went on in Greatfather’s tent with Dronacharya and Ashwatthama. I could hardly keep my mind on them because though we had got used to the idea of having lost Uncle Shalya, I still had to get used to Dronacharya and Ashwatthama plotting against us. This would melt in the heat of battle and I consoled myself with the knowledge that the other leaders were Jayadratha, that seducer whom we had left in the forest with the five tufts sprouting from his head, Sudakshina of Kamboja, Karna, Shakuni, the mighty Bablika, Greatfather’s kinsman, and the oldest Kaurava warrior, Kritavarman, and Bhoorishravas, for whom we felt affection, but not enough for me to forget that you cannot choose your enemies. They had all taken great trouble to persuade Greatfather that as commander-in-chief he would be the man to keep them united. They had played their game well, for his great fear, even now, was disunity in Hastinapura.
We were sitting in Krishna’s tent discussing strategy when Balarama was announced. We all arose to go out and to do him honour. He already stood at the
canopied entrance, massive against the white tents. His light golden skin was flushed with wine and his eyes were detached and tragic. He surveyed us as if from a distance. He was Duryodhana’s friend, but a deeper love bound him to Krishna. Eldest was the first to move forward, warmly taking both Balarama’s hands in his own, but his gaze remained on Krishna. He suffered us to do puja to him. Then we greeted his kin—Gada, Akrura, Shamba, and Uddhava.
Balarama observed the courtesies, but this was no courtesy visit. He said what he had to say in his usual blunt way.
“Nothing can avert the slaughter, which will be cataclysmic. It is as fate ordained. I asked Krishna repeatedly to help Duryodhana who deserves his help equally, for he is as closely related to us as you Pandavas are.”
Balarama looked at me expressionlessly. “For your sake, Arjuna, he refused. So I know you will win and since I cannot bear to be estranged from Krishna, I will not fight and I will not look on. It is not that I do not love you all too, but I will go on a pilgrimage to the Saraswati, for I cannot be indifferent to the massacre of Duryodhana and his brothers.”
Waving Krishna away he got up and, by the time we had gathered ourselves to do him honour, he had flung his blue silk cloth around his neck and was out of the tent and striding away.
Only one other of the lords of Bharatavarsha stayed out of the war, and he came to us hard on the heels of Balarama.
It was Rukmi, the brother of Krishna’s chief queen, and thus uncle of Pradyumna. We all paid him due honour and were glad of the akshauhini he had brought, but his speech gave me pause. I had never thought to meet somebody who blew his own trumpet louder than Karna, but there he was massaging his muscles and asserting that he was the strongest man in the world, that he would wipe out our enemies and make Eldest a present of the whole earth.
“So do not fear, here I am.” And he smiled at me.
Perhaps for the sake of an akshauhini I should have swallowed this, but Krishna’s presence always sharpened my wit, besides which he had once promised Rukmini, Krishna’s wife and his sister, to Shishupala of the Chedis against her will, and I wondered whether we could be sure of his loyalty. I pretended that my knees were shaking and my teeth chattering in terror. Then I indulged in some boasting myself by listing my victories and finally told him that he could leave or stay as he chose. I avoided Eldest’s eyes but exchanged looks with Krishna. The point was not lost on Rukmi. He marched his akshauhini straight to Duryodhana who could afford to reject our leavings, and did so.
If we thought Rukmi offensive, it was only because we had not yet been visited by Shakuni’s son, Uluka, with his venomous messages from the Kuru camp. Indeed, he himself feared his own poison.
His first words to Eldest were, “Yudhishthira, Best of the Bharatas, you know that the work of an envoy is not easy, therefore remember that it is not I that speaks but Duryodhana—and reserve your anger for him.”
Yudhishthira’s prominent nose seemed to catch the light as he half closed his eyes. “We know how to treat envoys. Fear not, Uluka. Let us have the large views of the short-sighted Duryodhana.”
There was sweat on Uluka’s brow and he took a deep breath. “Duryodhana speaks thus: ‘Draupadi was dragged into the Sabha. A real man would have given vent to his anger, but you merely sat there. After your exile you did menial service for Virata. Try to be a man now by calling up the memory of Draupadi’s disgrace. Bheema at least made a vow and now the time has come to see if he can drink the blood of my brother. The weapons have been worshipped and the presiding gods invoked. The sacred battlefield of Kurukshetra is free of mud and the roads level. So we invite you with your Krishna to come to do battle, and to remember that your hopes of victory are vain, for Karna and Shalya and Dronacharya are invincible. The time cycles themselves will be reversed and the mountain of Sumeru blown down if you win. Does anybody really think he can return home cosily after having faced Dronacharya or Greatfather? You are like the frog who thinks his well is the whole world.’”
Bheema shifted, which made Uluka stumble over his words.
“Our army is protected by kings from the four cardinal directions, the Kambojas, the Sakas and Khasas, the Salvas and the Matsyas, the Kauravas, the Mlechhas, Pulindas, the Dravidas and Andhras, the warriors of Kasi, and others too numerous to mention.”
We suffered anew to hear the names of our erstwhile allies now arrayed against us. Even the southern Matsyas who we had hoped would follow Virata were not going to throw their lot in with our seven akshauhinis.
“We are as uncrossable as the Ganga in full spate. Have you so little judgement, Yudhishthira, as to think that you can defeat my arm of protecting elephants and reach me?”
Uluka took another breath and his eyes crossed mine. My smile put him on his mettle. I had meant to keep smiling throughout his discourse, but by the time he uttered his second sentence, my smile had vanished.
“Yes, yes, Arjuna, we all know you have your Krishna and your six cubit long Gandiva and that nobody in the world is your equal. How is it then that I rule your kingdom? You see, there is more to it than Dharma. It is for the Supreme to destroy hostile forces.”
It was as though Duryodhana had entered Uluka. Shakuni’s son had all his father’s cunning and all cousin Duryodhana’s grossness. I steeled myself.
“Where was your Gandiva at the end of the dice game, Arjuna? And Bheema’s mace? Draupadi, a woman, saved you from the tasks of the lowest menials. Was I not right about your being seedless kernels?” Uluka had obviously been instructed to sway his hips at me. “I think I must have been, since Arjuna braided his hair and as a hermaphrodite with hip chains and waist bands gave dancing lessons.”
I don’t know how I hung on to myself. I sat staring at him and let the words burn me.
“I am the virile one who reduced Bheema to the kitchens of Virata, so you see, neither Krishna’s illusions nor your boasts, Arjuna, will make me return the kingdom.”
Slowly, I recovered enough to be able to raise my eyes and look at Krishna. Whether it was Uluka’s own inspiration at seeing me recover, or whether he had been instructed by Duryodhana to say his piece twice we shall never know, but even as Bheema sat with a dangerously lowered head, pleading permission from Krishna with his eyes, Uluka launched into a repetition of his insults, with embellishments. The twins and Bheema were beginning to flex their arms, but it was Satyaki and Sahadeva who jumped up first, and then immediately Ghatotkacha, Bheema, and Nakula. I think Dhrishtadyumna and Shikhandin were already on their feet.
“You want to meet Yama this very moment?” growled Bheema. “If Yama himself helped you, I would still drink Duhshasana’s blood.”
Sahadeva interrupted him. “Uluka, tell your treacherous father that he was born to destroy the race of Dhritarashtra with his clever fingers. I have a vow to renew. I will kill you with your father watching and then I shall kill him.”
Krishna spoke quietly: “Son of Shakuni the Gambler, hurry back to Duryodhana. Tell him we understand; he wants war and he shall have it.” Krishna’s voice made me myself; Bheema moved and I held him back.
“He is an envoy, Bheema.”
I turned to the assembly which was on its feet.
“Because you love us you have been aroused by insults directed at Krishna and all of us. I beg your permission to give Uluka a message to Duryodhana. It is this: ‘Soon Gandiva will speak.’”
Krishna nodded and I caught the approval and relief in the eyes of the kings that dignity and order had been restored.
Eldest said quietly, “Uluka, tell Duryodhana, Yudhishthira says that the man who depends on his own strength and who fulfils his vow without fear is a Kshatriya.”
When Krishna spoke, his voice was chilling: “Your words are brave because you see me as Arjuna’s charioteer and I will not use my chakra, but it is I who will burn the world as fire eats grass. Run anywhere you might in the world and Arjuna’s chariot will be waiting to face you, even in the underworld. The vows you have heard today are no idle b
oasts.”
There was still something I had to say. “Tell Duryodhana that if he imagines that the kind and merciful Pandavas would not harm Greatfather, on whose strength you base your boasting, he is wrong. I myself shall slay Bheeshma.” I raised my arms. “Say this: war after sundown.”
There was a shout of approval. A hundred voices shouted “War at sunrise!”
Above them, Bheema’s voice could be heard yelling inhumanely, “Duryodhana, stay at home or become food for vulture’s stomachs. Duhshasana, I will drink your blood, I will kill your brothers, I will smash Duryodhana’s thigh. The death of your brothers is called Bheema; Abhimanyu is the doom of the other princes.”
I reached him as he yelled, “I will trample upon your head, Duryodhana.”
With my hand on his head he subsided.
Now each king in turn made the conventional challenge.
But Virata, when he stood up, said to Uluka: “Tell Duryodhana that I fight for Yudhishthira not because he is my kinsman but because I have always wanted to serve a good man.”
Drupada stood grave and steady. “King Virata speaks for all righteous men.”
Shikhandin, who had waited two lifetimes for this moment, vowed to shoot Greatfather down from his chariot.
Finally, Eldest dismissed Uluka with the courtesy due to an envoy: “Go, Uluka, or stay amongst us who are your kinsmen too. Either way may you prosper.”
Uluka looked down. Then he stepped forward and took the dust from Eldest’s feet, saluted the assembly, and returned to Duryodhana.
From the moment Dhrishtadyumna gave his first command, I saw I had no reason to regret our choice. There was utter silence when he spoke and his words were always to the point. There was no confusion. The vast army was like a calm ocean; even the elephants and horses appeared to listen. The biggest tusker was brought to us so we could survey the armies from the tall verandaka.
We had heard from a spy that Greatfather was now praising our enemies and encouraging them. It was obvious that as their commander he could hardly do otherwise. What had I imagined? That for thirteen years Greatfather had spent his time reproving our cousins for their misdeeds towards us? The truth of it was that they had lived cosily enough in Uncle Dhritarashtra’s palace. Duryodhana was the grandson of Greatfather as much as we were, yet Greatfather’s eulogies galled me as much as his promise to burn up our army in no time.
The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata Page 38
