Bhima Lone Warrior Page 3

  The five of us had begun to sleep in separate rooms and each of us had a charioteer to serve us, as well as shudra women as servant maids. In the morning, once we were ready, we had to go to a class where we learnt the Vedas. I was always the last to arrive. Our uncle’s sons were taught in another place. We had heard that Vidura’s sons would study with us, but they did not come. I asked why, and Yudhishtira said, ‘It’s just as well if they do not come. They are shudras.’

  Grandfather Bhishma and Vidura would sometimes stand at the door and observe us. Our teacher stood up to pay obeisance only when Grandfather came. Signing to our teacher that he should continue, Grandfather would walk away hurriedly.

  After this class, we would practise with weapons in the courtyard of Shukacharya’s residence. We were by ourselves there as well. A year later, when Kripacharya began to teach us, Uncle’s sons came to train with us. Three of our teacher’s senior disciples came to assist him.

  Princes are required to learn four kinds of warfare, waged with chariots, elephants, horses and foot soldiers. One could become a rathaveeran, a warrior who had mastered fighting from a chariot, only after becoming adept at waging war from a chariot drawn by a single horse. The soota ballads included heroic stories of how Bhishma had waged war against the kingdom of Kashi in a chariot drawn by a single horse and brought back our grandmothers, Ambika and Ambalika, as brides for Vichitravirya.

  After we received instruction in the use of weapons, we had to bathe and then eat. Before we went to the inner hall for a meal, we had to go and see Mother. She now lived alone in a palace. Its southern wing was empty. Our grandmothers and our great grandmother, Satyavati, used to live there. On the day when the last rites for our father were over, they had all left with our grandfather Krishnadvaipayana for the forest. I had heard it said at the time in the palace that they were going to perform penance in order to attain a very special Heaven known as Devapadam.

  Later, however, I learnt that Grandfather Krishnadvaipayana had advised the women to leave Hastinapura quickly, rather than stay and witness the many riots and quarrels that were going to break out there.

  Krishnadvaipayana had watched from a distance while the brahmins performed our father’s funeral rites. It was then that I saw him properly. I had heard that he used to come sometimes to Shatasringa at night. His dark-skinned, slender body was completely smeared with ash. Matted hair carelessly bundled up in a knot; a yellowish beard that had grown so long, it completely concealed his neck; a length of coarse bark wound around his waist. His light red eyes glowed bright. I observed him while the rituals were being performed. We had heard that he was immortal. No one knew the Vedas and Shastras as well as he did. It was because our grandmother, Ambika, had been terrified at the sight of him and closed her eyes that her son, our uncle Dhritarashtra, had been born blind. And our grandmother Ambalika had turned pale with fear and given birth to my father Pandu, a baby devoid of physical strength. The next time, my uncle’s mother had sent her servant maid. The woman had not been afraid of him and he had therefore given her the boon of a son who had no deformities at all. I did not know whether that fearless servant woman was still in the palace. I had not heard anyone speak about her. It was said that, thanks to Krishnadvaipayana’s blessing, her son, Vidura, grew up to be so intelligent that even the greatest teachers revered him.

  I saw nothing in Krishnadvaipayana that was frightening. But he stayed at a distance from everyone and no one went up to speak to him.

  When he set out for the forest with his mother, Satyavati, who was bent double with age, and my grandmothers, Ambika and Ambalika, he had given orders that there were to be no followers, no mourning.

  My mother was alone now.

  I had assumed that Mother did not know how we were faring in our studies under Shukacharya and Kripacharya, for she never came anywhere near the weapon house.

  But one day Mother sent for me.

  ‘Are your studies going well?’

  ‘Yes’

  ‘And what are you most interested in?’

  Kripacharya had started lessons on various types of combat strategies. It was war with the mace that really interested me.

  But I said, ‘Bahuyuddham, fighting with my bare hands!’

  Mother’s face darkened. ‘Bahuyuddham is for low-caste people. Kshatriyas should learn it, of course, but …’

  Mother was silent for a while, as if thinking of something. ‘I was told that you’ve been harassing your uncle’s sons.’

  ‘Who, me? I .’ I was distressed, not quite knowing what to say.

  Mother said, ‘Remember, it is always us they will find fault with. Do not allow yourself to become known as one who brings evil to his clan.’

  It was not I who had been born to destroy his clan, it was Duryodhana. I had heard the sootas muttering among themselves that Grandfather Krishnadvaipayana himself had predicted that calamities were going to take place soon. I was afraid that Duryodhana was spreading false rumours about me.

  I often went to the elephant sheds when I had no lessons. There was an old hunchback among the mahouts. He looked as if he would be blown away if an elephant trumpeted, but even the wildest rogue elephant would obey him when he spoke. He had learnt from the great sages all the texts that dealt with elephants and the treatment of the diseases that they were susceptible to. He used to allow me into the sheds with him.

  King Dhritarashtra’s elephant was as big as a little mountain. Many of the elephants were named after old kings of the Kuru race. Since I was so interested in the animals, the old man granted me certain small privileges. I could touch their trunks and offer them bits of sugarcane. One day, he was showing me the spot on the forehead from which fluid would begin to ooze when an elephant was in rut when we noticed three people standing at a distance, gazing at the elephant shed – Duryodhana, Dussasana and Yudhishtira.

  When I came out of the shed, however, I was taken aback. The third one was not Yudhishtira, it was Karna.

  I did not even know his name at that time. He was just one of the boys who came with the Kauravas to Kripacharya’s classes.

  I knew what their stance and their expressions meant. The three of them had evidently planned a united effort to knock me down. I was not afraid of facing them one by one. But I did not want to be defeated in front of the servants who worked in the elephant sheds. I avoided them and went out through the door on the opposite side, saying to the old mahout, ‘It’s getting late, let me go and have a bath.’

  As I walked on without looking back, I heard footsteps rapidly approaching from behind. My legs trembled with fear. What if I ran away? But my cousins and their friend would turn that into a story: Bhima is not only a blockhead, he’s a coward too. Tales of how Duryodhana had taught many people obedience were popular amongst the children. Abruptly, I turned around.

  Duryodhana was smiling. It was the first time I was seeing him smile. Like a reflection, Dussasana smiled as well. This younger brother always followed Duryodhana like a shadow, obeying everything he said. He looked as big as I was. And strong.

  ‘Take a good look at him, Duryodhana. Look at Vrikodara, who was born to kill all the Kauravas.’

  It was Karna who spoke.

  When I was a small child, my mother, noting my fondness for food, had said in jest to the senior-most of the servant women: ‘My second son is a real vrikodara, he has the stomach of a wolf! Whatever he eats, he’s still hungry!’

  The name Mother had given me with such affection became a nickname that people in the kitchen area called me scornfully. And once it reached the outer halls and courtyard, it became a synonym for Bhimasena. Every time I heard it, anger would course through me.

  I stood there like an idiot.

  ‘Blockhead! Are you the one who’s going to kill the Kauravas?’

  Duryodhana stood in front of me, laughing contemptuously. In what was probably a pre-planned move, Dussasana slowly closed in behind me. The third one stood apart, ready to enjoy the game.

  Even as I wondered how to escape defeat, I couldn’t help thinking that this Karna, some charioteer’s son who went around in Duryodhana’s gang, had an uncanny resemblance to Yudhishtira. Except that the supercilious smile on Karna’s face would never be seen on Yudhishtira’s.

  I knew at once that Shukacharya’s rules for Dhanurveda, the science of archery, would have no relevance to my present situation. Duryodhana stood in the vyshakha stance: legs wide apart, balancing on his little toes, his knees firm. And Dussasana, on my left, was in the ardhamandala stance, his knees bent. The charioteer’s son stood apart, laughing softly.

  Fury, not fear, blazed inside me.

  The outer courtyard of the elephant shed was empty. I had to get this over with before any guards or servant women came that way.

  In Shatasringa, as a child, seated on my mother’s lap, I had watched tribal people from the forests bring honey and bitumen as gifts and then stage fights to entertain us before they left. Those who fell down from the rocks would not give up, they would fight their way back to the top. Once, I saw a boy who still looked like a child grab a gigantic figure, lift him up and then fling him down. At the end of the fight, when he bowed before Mother, his dirt-smeared face wreathed in a broad smile, she threw him a gold bangle as a prize.

  I realized that it was the rules of the forest that would serve me best here.

  ‘Poor blockhead, he’s trembling with fear. Spare him. Make him cross his hands, touch his ears and bend down low a hundred and one times, then let him go,’ said Karna.

  I sprang forward before I could be attacked, a trick I had learnt. Dussasana had assumed that Duryodhana was my target, so he did not expect me to spin left suddenly, hold my chest in and hit him hard with my elbow. He was flung to the ground. I was
unsteady on my legs for an instant, and Duryodhana threw himself at me before I found my balance. I was thrown so far that I fell against the wooden frame of the outer shed. I heard Karna laugh again.

  But Duryodhana had fallen down as well. He had no idea how quick I, who had grown up running and playing in the forest, could be. Before he could get up, I fell on his back, wound my arms around his neck and pounded his ribs with my fists. Dussasana came running up to help, but I lunged at him and caught his hair with my right hand. Both of them were twisting and turning, trying to shake themselves free. I knew that if they succeeded, they would hit me till I was helpless. So I grabbed both their heads and dashed them against each other. Dussasana’s cry of pain spurred me on. I dashed their heads together again, and Duryodhana cried out as well. There was more anger than pain in his voice. Let me reduce these two to a state where they cannot get up, I thought, then I’ll deal with the charioteer’s son who had been enjoying the spectacle.

  ‘Let go of them, let go!’

  People were shouting. My topknot had come loose and someone tugged at my hair authoritatively. I saw that it was Kripacharya.

  It was clear that Karna had fetched him, although he was still standing at a discreet distance as if he had no part in anything.

  Angry and tearful, the brothers babbled incoherently, unable to express what they wanted to say.

  ‘He’s always like this. We weren’t doing anything and he .’

  I longed to say that it was not I who had begun it. I looked at Karna, standing apart from us. I wanted to let him know that I did not mind if he came at me, a third opponent. I would teach him a lesson when I got him alone, and use a whip to do so.

  Kripacharya told us sternly that games like this had to be restricted to the weapon house.

  Duryodhana’s eyes had reddened. He turned and looked at me as if to say, it’s not over yet, and walked away quickly.

  Kripacharya tried to control his anger. ‘You are brothers. Have you already begun to fight?’

  I did not say anything. He walked away, muttering to himself.

  When I went to the river that day, my brothers had already had their baths and were on their way back.

  ‘Where were you?’ asked Yudhishtira.

  I did not give him a clear reply. Nor did I tell anyone about how I had hurt Duryodhana. Surely Kripacharya would not think it a serious matter.

  However, Mother asked me after a few days, ‘Son, did you spring out from hiding and knock Duryodhana down?’

  Yudhishtira was standing beside her. He must have heard what happened and reported it to Mother at once.

  I answered, ‘No.’

  Yudhishtira reminded me, ‘You must not tell a lie.’

  I looked at Mother and said, ‘I was not in hiding. The two of them together .’

  Mother signed to me not to continue.

  Yudhishtira came out with me and said, ‘All the children in Uncle’s palace are going to get together and teach you a lesson.’

  ‘Who said so?’

  ‘I heard.’

  I described what had happened in detail only to Arjuna. He advised me to be very careful.

  Arjuna used to go late in the afternoon to study archery with Kripacharya. Whenever we were together, all he talked about was archery. One must be able to challenge all the kings, he said, from a chariot drawn by a single horse. Every day, he meditated on his father, Indra. He was sure that his father would come one day to give him divine weapons.

  Arjuna told me that the bow and arrow were not suitable weapons for me, and advised me to learn how to wage war with the mace from Shukacharya.

  That day, after my evening prayers, I stood alone on the riverbank and meditated on the God of the Wind who had fathered me. Give me your blessing and make me exceedingly strong. Let your son, Bhimasena, be the first in rank in the use of all weapons.

  What could I do to please the god who was my father? Who would be able to tell me? Maybe my father’s intelligent younger brother, Vidura, would know. But I did not have the courage to ask him. Although he was always somewhere near us, he seemed very distant and usually spoke only to Yudhishtira.

  War fought from chariots for Yudhishtira, war with the bow and arrow for Arjuna: the teachers had already decided on who was to learn what. Yudhishtira was to be king – and kings had to be expert at waging war from chariots. Celestial voices had predicted much earlier that Arjuna, being Indra’s son, would be an invincible archer. Therefore he had to be given special lessons in archery.

  Mother still fondled Nakula and Sahadeva in front of the servant maids in the women’s quarters and the kshatriya women who came to visit her. ‘These twins, Madri’s sons, are dearer to me than the sons I bore myself.’

  Nakula and Sahadeva had no great aspirations.

  Everyone knew that Mother had a very special affection for Arjuna, though she never said so openly. All the women in the palace loved Arjuna with his beautiful, dark skin. I had seen it in their eyes when we stood together.

  The magadha nomads sang about Arjuna when they came to the palace. These singers were supposed to know the future. They sang of how, riding in his chariot drawn by white horses, he would subdue the world with a divine bow and a quiver that would never be empty of arrows. Beautiful apsara women would feel restless, consumed by desire for his dark-skinned body. Even Agni and Varuna would obey the commands of his sharp arrows.

  Mother wiped her eyes, which had filled with tears of joy. When they finished singing, she poured gold coins into their hands.

  I looked at the northwest and meditated upon the God of the Wind who kept watch there. Was my divine father, who was somewhere in the distance, listening to my prayers?

  At that moment, a thousand ripples moved over the surface of the water, like the gathers of a dress unfolding. A gentle breeze suddenly wafted in from somewhere and tousled my hair. Invisible hands that had the moist feel of little drops of water embraced me.

  Someone whispered in my ear: I hear you, I hear you.

  3

  I knew that Duryodhana would rely on the support of his gang to take revenge on me. So I was very wary.

  My aunt Gandhari had many children, and I did not know the names of many of them. Besides, her husband, my uncle, had had children by soota and shudra women. All of these children went around together.

  On days when we had no classes, we went hunting. Sometimes the chariots went as far as the boundary of the forest. The hunters would organize guarded camps. Soldiers would go on elephants and agitate the forest, so that all the animals came out of their lairs. Archers would then shoot down the fleeing animals with their arrows. These were part of the lessons that kshatriya youths had to learn.

  One of Kripacharya’s older disciples, Nirbheekara, led these expeditions. We – that is, the older children – spent our time with the archers in the camps. While the rest of the group waited for the game to be cooked, we were allowed to wander as far as we liked in the forest, provided we stayed within earshot. I was sure Duryodhana would take his revenge on me during one of these expeditions.

  I was delighted every time a hunting expedition was organized. I looked forward to the moment when an animal fell down, pierced by an arrow that had been released after the hunter had carefully calculated how swiftly the prey could run. Holding my breath, I would wait for the instant that directly followed the twanging of the bow, thinking, there, now the animal is leaping high into the air. And then, when it lay on the ground, immobile, I would look at the archer and see a smile of victory on his face. Whether he was a soota or a shudra, I would want to embrace him.

  When we met each other during Kripacharya’s lessons on weapons, Duryodhana always turned his face away, while Dussasana’s look held a warning: your day is coming.

  In the forest, I was very careful never to wander too far from the crowd.

  One day, as we were setting out on an expedition, Arjuna said, ‘Watch me shoot an arrow and bring down an animal today.’

  We had not yet been given our own bows and arrows. These expeditions were meant for us to study the forest and the way animals moved. The older boys carried spears and hung hunting knives in leather sheaths at their waists. Both were just ornaments.