AJAYA I -- Roll of the Dice

by Unknown

  Next to the dead Purochana, lay the charred body of Ekalavya's youngest nephew. Even in death, the boy held the knife Ekalavya had given him on parting. The Nishada's tears began to flow when he saw it held securely in those charred fingers. The chandalas had not noticed him until Ekalavya tried to pull the body out of the cart. They pushed him away. Whatever valuables the dead bodies carried were theirs by right. It was one of the few incentives for working in this macabre profession. They were already irritated that the bodies of the Princes and the Rajamata had not yielded anything worthwhile. They were not about to allow another Untouchable to rob them of their dues.

  When Ekalavya rushed towards his nephew again, one of the chandalas hit him with his long stick. Others arrived and they thrashed the Nishada without mercy. Ekalavya was in no mood to fight and their blows were soothing in a way, making him temporarily forget the ache deep in his heart. When they were satisfied the Nishada would not wake up anytime soon, they dragged him like a sack and dumped him under a tree.

  The cart carrying the bodies started with a jerk. It rolled on, creaking and squeaking on its journey towards the cremation grounds near the river. The head chandala hacked the knife from the corpse. It was a cheap knife but perhaps he could get a mug of country liquor for it, he thought as he tucked it into his waistband.

  ***

  When Ekalavya returned to consciousness, it was late afternoon. The funeral pyres had died down some time ago and the Priests had gone home after a funeral feast hosted by the head of the village. The grief Ekalavya felt was more unbearable than the pain in his limbs. He tried to get up and was surprised to find two strong hands assisting him. He looked up at the dark face of a shepherd, smiling at him. "Aswasena," Ekalavya mumbled, as recognition dawned. His Naga friend from Takshaka's camp hugged him tight.

  "I tried to warn her, but she did not listen," Aswasena said to the confused Nishada. "Ekalavya, our people have been watching you ever since you started practicing archery again. The great leader had given up on you after you sacrificed your thumb to please Guru Drona. But your determination to fight back has impressed Takshaka. He keeps talking about you in all his speeches and now you are a hero to all the young Nagas in camp. He wants to meet you. He does not bear any ill will towards you for deserting the cause. He always said you would come back once you learnt there was no future for people like us in this country, unless we overturn the caste system. What happened to you and your family is not unique. For thousands of years our people have suffered injustice. Ekalavya, come with me to Khandiva forest. It is the only way for the downtrodden, the poor, the oppressed; for people like us. For the sake of your murdered family, for your hacked off thumb; for our wretched people, come back to Khandivaprastha."

  Ekalavya looked at his friend. "You sound like Takshaka, with your bombastic words and dramatic expressions."

  "Will you come?"

  Ekalavya looked at his right hand with its four fingers. The ghost thumb itched. The image of his cousin's hand holding a knife flashed through his mind. He stood up, ignoring the pain that shot through his limbs, and stared into the Naga's face. "Yes," he said.

  A shout of joy came from Aswasena as he hugged his friend. As night fell, the two friends began their long journey towards the dark jungles of Khandiva.

  ***

  "I do not know whether my heart beats with happiness or fear."

  Gandhari could feel the trembling in her husband's cold fingers. The world around them was dark. Vidhura had just paid them a visit. Though the King had tried to appear unmoved before the Prime Minister, the moment he heard him walk away, he had turned towards his wife. She did not say anything, nor did she wish to. She tried to pray but the comforting words eluded her. There was only numbness in her mind.

  She had felt Dhritarashtra's silent satisfaction when Vidhura told them the news. But dread had spread through her veins. She wondered whether her husband had understood what the Prime Minister was hinting at. When Vidhura left, his words hanging ominously in the air, Dhritarashtra had asked Gandhari, "Could Suyodhana really do something like that?"

  For Dhritarashtra, their firstborn could do no wrong. But Gandhari was not so sure. She moved away from her husband, trying to find the window and catch the softness of the breeze on her face. She could hear his laboured breathing. Poor man! When Bhishma had brought her to this palace so many years ago, she had been shocked to see the man who was to marry her. No wonder Bhishma had been compelled to ransack kingdoms and steal away brides for the Princes of Hastinapura. Gandhari still remembered the horror of seeing Dhritarashtra for the first time and shuddering at his sightless eyes. She had kept an arm around Shakuni as she viewed the splendour around them, trying to protect her brother from evil men. She willed herself to remain unflinching before the gaze of the curious courtiers. She could hear the whispers of the men and women who had assembled to see the exotic gift Bhishma was giving his blind nephew. She could also sense their sympathy and hear their clicking tongues. With a vehemence that bordered on insanity, she had torn a strip from her shawl and tied it over her eyes. From that day, she had shared Dhritarashtra's blindness.

  "Daughter, why are you doing this?" Even now, she could clearly hear Bhishma's shocked words. The agony and guilt in his words had given her some satisfaction. It still did after all these years. The images of that day remained vivid. There had been a time when she had shared her brother's dream of destroying the country that had stolen her sight. But it was strange how this dry and dusty land seeped into the mind. The smell of spices, the music of temple bells, the fine dust that seemed to enter every pore of the body in the hot sultry summers, had claimed her heart. The dreams of destruction and revenge had vanished long ago. The man she had shrunk from had become her husband. Was it love or sympathy for an insecure and handicapped man? She was afraid to ask that question of herself. When she had taken the terrible vow to bind her eyes, she had wanted only to hurt Bhishma with that gesture. She had thought she would never forgive him for what he had done to her father and her homeland. Yet, respect for the Grand Regent had crawled into her mind over the years and refused to go away despite her efforts.

  "They once cheated me of my inheritance and made my brother Pandu sit on the throne while I stood by like a lackey," Dhritarashtra said, gritting his teeth. "I am blind, I see only darkness... even the crown I wear is a gift from my brother... They gave me my birthright as if bestowing a favour on me, after Pandu died. But I am just a figurehead. Bhishma and Vidhura rule this kingdom."

  Gandhari heard him get up and find his mace. She gripped her hands together. She could not bear to think of him as weak and vulnerable. He was the King of Hastinapura, he ruled a kingdom as large as a continent, yet he was afraid of his own shadow. He was deferential to all, polite and soft-spoken, weighing his words before speaking them. But in their private chamber, he was a different man. Gandhari knew what was coming now; she was familiar with that sound. Her husband was venting his frustrations on the iron replica of Bhima. It had been a gift to his firstborn, but Suyodhana had never used it. It now stood in the royal bedchamber. Clang! Dhritarashtra's mace hit the iron mannequin with great force.

  "Will you stop this?" Gandhari asked, her voice filled with pain.

  There was a pause. Then he resumed hitting the statue with a vengeance, as if to prove to himself that he was a King with some power, at least in his bedroom. Gandhari walked towards him, unafraid of the mace he wielded. He stopped, sensing her presence near him. She prised the mace from his hands and made him sit on the bed. He buried his head on her shoulder in defeat. But Gandhari lifted his face and felt it with her fingers. He was so vulnerable in her hands that she wanted to weep. The women of Gandhara never cried, she reminded herself. How much indignity this man had suffered, she thought, as she stroked her husband's thick hair. It felt like Suyodhana's. Perhaps it had turned grey or even white by now, but it felt and smelt like her son's. In their world, colour did not matter. She tried to imagine what her firstborn
looked like now.

  "Now our son will get what is rightfully his. He is not blind like us, Gandhari. I cannot say this to anyone else, but you will understand. I feel relieved the Pandavas are dead. I hope it was an accident and not a conspiracy by our son. I do not believe he would do anything like that. Suyodhana has never been cruel. But do you think he did...?"

  Gandhari did not say anything. She wanted to believe her husband. Surely, their son would never do anything so ignoble. But what about Shakuni? Poor Kunti! Had she really died? What a horrible death for her and her sons. Had she died or was it just another trick? Gandhari despised her, but somehow she found it hard to believe Kunti had died. Kunti was a survivor. But Vidhura had said Kunti and her five sons had died in the fire that gutted their new palace. Gandhari felt ashamed of the thoughts that haunted her mind. The small bubble of joy that threatened to grow and fill her mind was unsettling. She shook her head, as if to remove such thoughts.

  Dhritarashtra was restless. He stood up, pushing Gandhari's hands away, and searched for his mace. Once again, the room echoed to the sound of metal crashing on metal. Gandhari sat on the bed, trying to shut out the hatred emanating from Dhritarashtra's mace. A cold fear began creeping into her body. She could shut out the sights of India, and could close her ears to her husband's frustration, but how would she cope with the dread spreading through every nerve. With utter clarity she knew that Vidhura was all wrong, and her son blameless. She was sure Kunti would come back with her sons and suck them all into something unimaginable. She wanted to see Suyodhana, to keep him nearby. For once, she wanted to see his face instead of feeling it with her fingers. In the world inhabited by Shakuni and Krishna, she knew her son was all alone, fighting a fool's battle. She wanted to hold and protect her son from the world.

  ***

  The news of the Pandavas' deaths spread like wildfire. Dhaumya's men fanned the flames of the rumours that Duryodhana had murdered his cousins. There was anger in the streets and Durjaya's men used it effectively to trigger a few riots. There was widespread destruction of public property, arson and looting. The Crown Prince was heckled in the streets. The Prime Minister went to Varanavata to discover the truth. But Bhishma summoned him back to the capital when the riots started spreading to the villages. Vidhura had to discontinue his house-building. The public execution of some rioters helped bring back sanity and the efficient Prime Minister restored peace and order within a week. Durjaya's men slithered back into their hiding places. They would remain in their sleeper cells until their leader called them to action.

  Suyodhana was frustrated at this turn of events. He loved being among the people and often visited the nooks and corners of the kingdom he was destined to rule. The love and affection the common people showed, recharged him. However, things turned for the worse following the rumours of the Pandavas' deaths. He knew people were aware of their mutual antipathy but he could not accept that so many thought he would stoop to the level of causing his cousins' deaths. Once, a mob surrounded him in the street and threw eggs at him. They would have lynched him had a beggar and dog not suddenly appeared on the scene and stood between the angry mob and the Prince, until the guards whisked him away to safety.

  After that incident, Bhishma had ordered him not to venture out of the palace. Though almost a year had passed since those dark days, it still hurt when he thought about it. The crowd had screamed, 'Killer Duryodhana' at the top of their voices. The nickname 'Duryodhana' hurt more than the tag 'killer' did. He missed the company of his friend Karna, who was away in Anga, doing an efficient job of putting his fiefdom in order. Sushasana had formed his own group of friends and the brothers had drifted apart and no longer spent much time together. Sushala, now betrothed to King Jayadratha of Sindh, was floating in her own happy world and no longer came to his room to talk. Aswathama remained the only companion in his enforced confinement. In his loneliness, his yearning for Subhadra became more acute. She had not replied to any of his messages after Graduation Day, and that added to his worries. He had written to Jayadratha, since Sindh was closer to Dwaraka than Hastinapura. He had also written to Balarama, his Guru, for advice and eagerly awaited a reply from the Yadava leader.

  A guard arrived and bowed to Suyodhana before handing over a sealed message. It was an invitation to the Princess of Panchala's swayamvara. Indifferently, he threw it onto the table after glancing at it, his thoughts returning to Subhadra. What did her silence mean? He had to go to Dwaraka and see her. Perhaps things would turn out right if he formally asked for her hand. Yes, that was it. She was shunning him because he had not taken the initiative to take the relationship further. Excited, he went to his writing desk and wrote a letter to Balarama, asking for Subhadra's hand in marriage. He despatched it with his personal courier to Dwaraka, and felt happy and relieved.

  Suyodhana casually re-read the invitation to Draupadi's swayamvara. It required the suitors to shoot a metal fish revolving high in the air, by looking at its reflection in a small pool of water. He smiled at the ridiculous ways people chose to select grooms for their daughters. Was Draupadi a trophy to be won in a competition? He remembered the beautiful Princess and thought her too spirited and intelligent to be auctioned off to the most skilled archer. Was there no place for love in her life? Karna. It came to him in a flash. Suyodhana slapped his forehead. What sort of a friend was he if he was capable of forgetting the night they had spent in Panchala and the look of love and longing in both Karna and Draupadi's eyes? Shaking off his lethargy, he called for Aswathama and Sushasana, and paced the room, waiting in growing excitement. When they came, he showed them the invitation and waited.

  "It is bad news for our friend," Aswathama said.

  "What do you mean, Aswathama?" Suyodhana clicked his tongue irritably. "Do you know any archer other than Karna, who can win this competition? The only person who can give him some competition is you."

  "I have no intention of getting beaten up by Karna. The issue is, did he even get an invitation?"

  "Why should he not get an invitation? He is the King of Anga, do you mean to say the Panchalas will not invite him because of his caste?"

  Aswathama gazed at his friend in silence, watching Suyodhana grow angrier by the minute.

  "Sushasana, get our troops ready. We are going to Draupadi's swayamvara, and we are taking Karna with us. Send a message to him to join us on the way. Send another to Jayadratha. If anybody dares to insult Karna, we will teach them a lesson they will never forget."

  By that evening, the arrangements had been made and Suyodhana and his friends started out with a large number of troops for Panchala. When Karna joined them on the way, they were relieved to find Aswathama's fears were unfounded. Karna showed them his invitation from the Panchala King. The five friends spent some of their happiest moments together, on this journey, racing each other on their horses, tasting the finest wines, talking to people, visiting remote villages and hermitages, hunting game in the forest, and singing and dancing under the skies. Karna was teased repeatedly and Sushasana and Aswathama's raunchy comments often led to fights. Their morning practice sessions were riotous, with Aswathama matching Karna's skill in archery and threatening to steal the bride. Jayadratha wanted to say something to Suyodhana about Subhadra, but the thought better of it. They were all having such a good time that he did not want to spoil the Prince's fun.

  When they entered Kampilya, Panchala's capital city was in a festive mood. Marigolds hung from ropes tied across the streets and the buildings had been freshly painted. The streets shone after being scrupulously washed and thousands of people milled about in festive attire. Hawkers, peddlers and vendors added to the gaiety with their cries, while street magicians and snake charmers entertained the crowds. The gold-plated chariots of various Princes sped by, and the rulers of various kingdoms paraded majestically atop their elephants. Groups of Brahmins walked about singing devotional songs. It was a grand event.

  As they neared the palace, a long procession overtook Suyod
hana's group. Sitting majestically in his howdah was a noble-looking old man. He smiled at the Crown Prince when their eyes met. The Prince and his friends bowed respectfully. Behind the elephant, a large, middle-aged, black man, rode a beautiful white horse. Holding his head proudly, he looked straight ahead. He nodded curtly to the Crown Prince of Hastinapura and resumed his stone like posture.

  "Who was that?" Karna asked Suyodhana.

  "Jarasandha, King of Magadha. He is a great man and one of our best administrators. Bhishma has a lot of respect for him. He often says that with Balarama in the West, and Jarasandha in the East, the Southern Confederate can never take over all of India and impose Parashurama's agenda on the country. The black man riding behind him is Hiranyadhanus, Commander-in-Chief of the Magadha armies. He is a Nishada, and one of the finest generals in India. Jarasandha defied all caste rules in elevating him to such an important post. When Parashurama chided him for the gross violation of caste rules, he replied that he ran his country on merit, not by outdated scriptures. Angered, Parashurama ordered Kalinga to mount an attack on Magadha, but the Nishada general routed the Kalinga army, proving Jarasandha's faith in him to have been right."