“When you have killed your enemy, what else remains for you to do? My private war was over and I was empty. I thought of all the days we spent with Dronacharya learning how to hold the bow. I kept remembering my father. There in the forest he had made a toy for me.
“Like this, Arjuna” He pointed, and taking his own bow, which was as tall as he, drew the bowstring to his ear. He did this several times and it flew back like thunder claps, together with a throbbing that spoke to me as no sound ever had. It had a magic note that banished evil. The birds and animals were stilled to listen as though to an enchanter’s voice. The sound stayed in my heart through all the years to come. “Watch me,” he said and placed a mango on a branch; he laid his bow and arrow on the ground and did pradakshina to them. “Worship your weapon for Shiva dwells in it,” he said to me. I laid my bow and arrow on the ground and walked around them both three times with folded hands. He took the bow and nocked the arrow to the string and when he let it fly it sang and whistled. The mango flew into the air and when we went to look for it we found two halves that were like twins.
The stone was neatly sliced as though a cook had put his carving knife through it. My father let me eat the pulp and placed the two half-stones somewhat apart. He sliced them with a crescent-headed arrow. Each piece was equal. He picked them as if his eyes had followed them and now he set four pieces in a row. He sent one flying east, another north, another west, the last he sent into the sky. He told me that you became the span between the arrow and your target and that you sent some of yourself to it. Afterwards, there was no difference, your soul entered the target and all your life long whatever you were doing the only target was yourself. Nobody ever told me that again. I think he had something of island-born Greatfather in him which was fostered by his brahmacharya vow and living in the forest, something that never came to Uncle Dhritarashtra. That day stayed with me. When I looked at Uncle Vidura or heard him speak, my father’s spirit came to stand beside me.
That day he took my hands in his and guided them. His hands were warm and strong. I wanted nothing more than for mine to be like that until I heard another bowstring hum.
The thrum of Dronacharya’s bowstring warmed my blood and sent it racing through my body. I wanted to retrieve the balls that fell in wells as he and Ashwatthama did with astras. And then I wanted something else: to be the best.
How ardently I dreamed of being the best and schemed for it. The greatest joy was in the shooting, in the delicate release of arrows which came to life like birds. When my arrows learned to find their mark like homing hawks, I created life itself by sending something of my substance. When later I said this to Dronacharya, he paused and looked at me. He took my bow and arrow from my hand and made me do pradakshina to them, then said to me with glowing eyes, what I had heard only in my dreams so far: “You are ready for an astra. An astra needs two powers. The one is sending it and the other, more important, is how to resist the sending of it.”
When Dronacharya set the wooden bird amongst the leaves for us to look at, and Eldest said that he could see the bird, the leaves, the tree, the forest, and his guru, our acharya told him that he was no Kshatriya bowman, that he should try some other calling. I was the only one to see only the eye.
“Then shoot!” he yelled triumphantly. The bird rose into the sky upon my arrow. I had a power greater than a king’s.
With time I learnt that it is necessary to fight to be the best. You have to fight to stay the best; to be known as the second best or equal is your enemy. It is his grace and virtue that threaten you and not his villainy. Being the best makes you most vulnerable. You give your enemy a home inside you. He becomes an astra, and when you kill him, you feel an emptiness as though your twin were dead. You finally see that what you were aiming at was something else.
With his chin upon his hand Krishna gazed at me and listened. “It is not that I forget his words about our queen or all the rest. But still, that single smile that he gave me at the end…it wiped out everything. I spent such hatred on him.” He sat and looked at me. “Do you think, Krishna, that in other lives we would have loved each other?”
“Yes.”
“I have to exercise my mind to recall his cruelty, his readiness to see us as slaves, to burn us, to mock us in the forest. But, Krishna, the only thing that comes to me is that last smile.” There was a silence. Then he said slowly: “That is because you are…Arjuna.” There was commotion in my breast like swords and maces clanging. I sat at Krishna’s feet and pressed my forehead to his knees and wept as though I were a child.
The world is full of enemies we love.
20
I shall not dwell on what was left of war. After the death of Karna, no Kaurava deserters came to us. Those who remained with Duryodhana were loyal, and Uncle Shalya who had been promised the command before the war finally inherited it.
He was a valiant warrior and we could not say with certainty the war would end today. His vyuha was well chosen and skillfully devised for a small army. It was the Sarvatomukha that Greatfather Bheeshma had devised nine days ago. It was smaller and sparser, with Uncle Shalya in Greatfather’s station. Ashwatthama was behind him in his father’s place while Kripacharya, Shakuni, and Kritavarman held the other vital positions. The three divisions of our army were commanded by Dhrishtadyumna, Shikhandin, and Satyaki while we rode out in front. They attacked in force. We understood from the beginning that duels would be avoided to protect Uncle Shalya, Eldest having vowed to kill him. They had no fear of Eldest as a warrior, yet they began to see that all our vows would be fulfilled. Before Eldest could challenge him Bheema attacked him with his mace. He battered him so badly that he sent him off the field. He returned bandaged, yelling that Shalya of the Madras would kill the sons of Pandu. Eldest with Satyaki as protector of his right wheel and Dhrishtadyumna on the left, charged him. I covered from behind. Bheema overtook him. Uncle Shalya, despite his greater age, was as nimble as Eldest. His horses got past Bheema and near enough to Eldest to throw his iron mace but Eldest hurled his longest javelin, a monstrous weapon rife with gems that entered Uncle Shalya’s chest. When he fell, the Kauravas began to scatter. Duryodhana tried to rally them. Fighting like a tiger, he kept us all at bay. Shakuni and his son Uluka came to his aid with elephantry.
Duryodhana’s eight remaining brothers came to the front. With seven arrows, Bheema killed them all except Sudarshana. I killed Susharma of the Trigartas. We crossed the elephant army with Bheema. Though Shakuni was the greater threat, Bheema could not be distracted from killing the last of Duryodhana’s brothers and Sudarshana knew it. His eyes were wide with terror when Bheema’s arrow severed his head. Sahadeva challenged Uluka and fulfilled his vow. This drained the courage from his father. Shakuni fought until his elephant fled, but Sahadeva drove beside them shouting: “You have a gambler’s debt to pay, Shakuni. A cheating gambler’s debt. This war is your creation.” He threw an inspired javelin which killed Shakuni. With the fall of Shakuni, the Kaurava spine snapped.
By middle afternoon, their forces comprised about two hundred chariots, five hundred horses, a hundred elephants, and three thousand infantry. Before the sun was ready to go down, we slaughtered them. Few enemies remained—Duryodhana, Kripacharya, Ashwatthama, and Kritavarman were among them. We had two hundred chariots, seven hundred elephants, one hundred horses, and two thousand men.
We learnt through Kritavarman, when he returned with Krishna and Satyaki to the Vrishnis, what happened in the Kaurava camp on the eve of this last day of war; Kripacharya had gone with thoughts of peace to Duryodhana and reminded him that Greatfather always said one should fight when powerful and plead when weak. It was not only that they had no army left, but there must be other-worldly forces fighting for the Pandavas. We had fulfilled our vows in spite of everything, all but the one to smash the thigh that had been shown to Draupadi. Kritavarman said that Kripacharya’s eyes rained tears. Duryodhana stroked his head, but he could not be moved and said that he had tasted som
ething that he could not share. He had ruled the world alone, receiving tribute from all lesser kings. If Eldest ruled again, he would be less than he was now and life would have no savour left for him. He had ridden the best horses, made love to the most gorgeous women on softest beds, drunk the sweetest wines, worn the most brilliant jewels, offered all the sacrifices, and had Karna as a friend. Could they see him eating Eldest’s salt?
It was time for him to fight and die so he could be with Karna. The sort of death Duryodhana must have thought about that night in a luxuriously appointed tent amidst friends and attendants was different from the one that came to him.
On the afternoon of that eighteenth day, wounded and losing blood, he found himself riding a dying horse, not knowing of the other three survivors. He wandered aimlessly until the horse dropped dead. Carrying his mace and sword he made his way to the Dwarpanya lake where Sanjaya appeared to him. I have seen that when a man is close to death his passions often fall from him. Though Duryodhana’s would flare up again these were the messages he gave Sanjaya for his parents: “Tell my mother that her vain and troublesome son, who made her suffer and never asked forgiveness, now falls before her and begs for it.” His only wish, he said, was that she should forgive him and be his mother in all lives to come. He begged the pardon of his father for having caused the death of all his sons.
We stood beside the lake with Krishna. There were no ripples on its surface.
To be beside it was like being in a dark chamber with someone’s silent presence. Duryodhana always claimed to have learnt water samadhi. It is the fate of liars not to be believed.
“Come out, Duryodhana,” called Eldest, peering in but seeing his own face. “Is your skin worth saving now? Act like a king, for once!”
Duryodhana’s voice came faint and disincarnate: “I need no rest,” called Eldest. “Slay us in battle and be the king once more, or let Yama take you by the hand to a Kshatriya heaven.” There was a pause. We waited, peering down into the depths of the lake.
“What need of kingdoms have I? The earth is shorn of Karna and my friends. You are welcome to her. Take her! Take her! I wish you joy of her, this barren earth. I am too friendless for desires or even life.” From another man this might have been heart-rending, but Eldest said: “Do not mistake us for Shakuni. I cannot rule the earth you offer me; a Kshatriya wins his kingdoms. The time to offer it is long past. Now that it is no longer yours, you are overgenerous, you who would not give us as much as might be balanced on a needle point. Now come and conquer us or die.” Eldest was the king again and looked to no one. There was a miserable silence. At last there came his voice.
“I have a mace and if you fight me one by one, I shall put an end to all of you today. Remember, fighting one to one is Dharma.”
“You mislaid this Dharma on the day that Abhimanyu died. And yet I grant you this: slay any one of us in single combat and you can have the kingdom.”
Krishna turned on him immediately: “What in the name of the great god Indra are you saying? Even the crows know that Duryodhana has been practising on iron statues with his mace. Even if he chooses Bheema, Duryodhana’s skill is finer and one of skill is two of might.”
Suddenly, Duryodhana stood before us without fear, without anxiety. Bheema hissing without words began to prowl around him.
His face was full of hate. He thrust it forward. “Remember Draupadi. Remember the Palace of Delight. Because of you Greatfather lies on arrows, Dronacharya has been slaughtered, and Karna is food for vultures. The cause of all our battles, your poisonous Shakuni, now lies rotting. And you, cremation ground, exterminator of your race, do you imagine we shall let you live to pollute the world again?” He circled Duryodhana in silence. Small twigs snapped under Bheema’s feet as he waited for an answer to his challenge. He was the only one of us to pit a mace against Duryodhana’s.
“Why do you speak so many words today, Bheema? I shall bludgeon out your gluttony for battle. Let our maces speak. Yes, I made you live in forests, made you disguise yourselves as servants. I won your friends and allies, and they deserted you. Our losses now are equal. Let us fight.”
Balarama had taught both, but there were things that Bheema did not seem to know. Duryodhana was nimble as a tiger. He danced round Bheema with his mace lifted to move in for the kill as soon as Bheema swung. Perhaps the water had revived him for Bheema swung and Duryodhana made an Ashwatthama leap above his mace and, as he did, caught Bheema’s diadem a blow that sent him reeling. Its clang echoed over the lake. Bheema was careful now not to invite Duryodhana’s jump over his mace and tried to find his head but Duryodhana was the better fighter and that could make him the king once more. The lake and sky began to turn around again as Duryodhana drove Bheema back towards the lake. Bheema made a feint from the right but his mace went into his left hand and struck Duryodhana’s right shoulder. Duryodhana staggered and tottered back against a tree. Before Bheema could finish him he put the tree between them and Bheema had to circle both. The trunk was thicker than two men and Duryodhana used it as a shield as he dodged Bheema. Bheema spent his fury on it and in his rage he started smashing at the trunk. He held the mace in both his hands and swung with all his might; the tree began to give. Duryodhana’s mace glanced off our brother’s chest and Bheema doubled.
“He took a sacred vow to smash the thighs and not the head,” Krishna said through clenched teeth. Bheema threw us a despairing look.
I thumped my thigh and shouted: “The vow!”
Bheema struck out at Duryodhana. Again Duryodhana leapt and when he came down his thigh struck Bheema’s mace, but before Duryodhana could recover, the mace smashed the other thigh! There was a scream and Duryodhana fell. I stared in shock. The world was silent but for gasps and pants. It was done. Bheema leant on his mace, placed his foot on Duryodhana’s head, and rocked it to and fro under his heel. “You laughed and danced when we left Hastina and called me cow. How does it feel down there? How does my foot feel?”
We were all pulling at Bheema. Eldest was on his knees by Duryodhana. He shouted: “You are un-Aryan, Bheema! When were we taught to do that to a cousin and a fallen king?” His eyes had tears in them as he cradled Duryodhana’s head upon his lap. “I envy you, Duryodhana. Soon you will reach a Kshatriya Heaven but we live on. The earth has lost her glory.”
Then Krishna came to Bheema: “You swore to do it, Bheema, and you did. You have done what any honourable Kshatriya must.”
Bheema tore himself from Krishna and fell at Eldest’s feet. “Your enemies are finished, Eldest. Smile at me. Draupadi will be happy now and bind her hair and sleep upon a bed. Give me your blessings.” Eldest drew him close with one arm but stared into the face of Duryodhana. A number of our men had caught up with us. Krishna wanted them to know his mind on Duryodhana’s fate. He looked around and pointed at him: “This is the fate of one who listens to Shakuni instead of Vidura.” Duryodhana raised himself upon his hand like a wounded snake.
“Krishna, who are you to speak? You killed your uncle. Does anybody in the world not know that you have won the war for Yudhishthira through trickery? Who made Arjuna kill my Karna when his chariot wheel was caught? Who caused Karna to loose his astra on that monstrous beast Ghatotkacha? If you had any fairness in you, the Pandavas would not have won.” We should have left after Eldest embraced Duryodana. But Krishna had not finished yet. He spoke so that his words should be repeated.
“One last time listen to me, Duryodhana. Everyone who took up your cause was killed by your Adharma. Had they not eaten of your salt, nothing could have stopped Dronacharya or Greatfather from going to the forest. Karna loved you. Were you a thousand times a greater scoundrel than you are now, he would still have fought for you. You held the whole world in your greedy grasp, and not a little pinch for your father’s brother’s sons. With Abhimanyu’s death that put an end to Kshatriya Dharma; you sealed your fate.”
“Did I, Krishna? The world or what is left of it will know how you have won. Bheema’s figh
ting was adharmic, else I would have won.”
“The Adharma is on my head,” Krishna said. Duryodhana tried to smile.
“You bore me, Krishna. You are a cowherd. You are right, I held the world in these two hands. Perhaps Yudhishthira can tell you how intoxicating that can be. But no, he does not know. He cannot taste it as I did. I put my foot upon my enemies’ heads without apology. I had no qualms about enjoying power. I could be just as fair as Dharmaraj. Look at his long nose twitching there. I do not blame him; he is a dharmic fool. It is you I blame. No one has had more happy hours than I have. I have drunk wine and laughed with Karna. None of you knows what friendship means. I have had the best women, the best horses…” he reminded us again of his good fortune. Here Duryodhana raised himself a little higher and looked at us defiantly one by one. Eldest made to help him, but Duryodhana fixed him with unblinking eyes. “I know you, Yudhishthira. The kingdom will be poison to you. I see it in your eyes already. You will not sleep in snowy beds with your wives as I have done. You will do penance. You will be ravaged by remorse.” He managed a little laugh which ended in a whimper. He continued, panting, “And seeing you bereft of joy, what joy will your brothers and Draupadi have?”
We should have left before these words were spoken. They sounded like a curse. But we stayed to hear more, like moths drawn to a flame. “You see that kite up there?” He raised his gaze to a kite that rode the wind towards us. “It will not be too long before its beak searches my brain. You see, dear Krishna, son of Vasudeva, nephew of Kamsa, I have achieved detachment. I, who lived a life gods might have envied, shall welcome kites and crows and hawks to this fine meal.” He tried to tap his head but fell back gasping. “I shall be with my friend while you shall chew the bitter cud that is remorse. Now let me be. Go. Go, all of you. Fools, go! I want to die alone.” Eldest hung his head. “Alone I am still King. Go,” he commanded.
“Farewell, Duryodhana.” Krishna cupped his hands and shouted to our waiting troops. “Success is ours! Victory is ours! We have placed Dharmaraj upon the throne once more. Each one of you has gained much merit.” Murmurs of praise and joy arose and sang like the soft strum of strings, and when he put his conch up to his lips and blew, the men acclaimed him. I took my Devadatta and blew it high and clear, and Bheema blew his Paundra, and the twins and our generals sounded theirs. And then I thrummed and thrummed Gandiva until a universe of joy welled up within me. The war was over.
The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata Page 56
