Bhima Lone Warrior Read online

  That day, the forest had been agitated, but not a single animal had come near our camp. I was with an archer from Ahichhatra, one who had just joined the army. Suddenly, we heard cries from the camp on the other side. An animal had fallen. Hunters often cried out to announce danger, but these were the rarer cries of celebration.

  We joined the hunters as they assembled in a clearing. A huge buck had fallen. Smiling broadly, full of happiness, Arjuna received the felicitations of the hunters. He was ten years old at that time, and I was eleven. I felt proud of my younger brother’s triumph. I gripped his shoulders and pulled him towards me.

  Yudhishtira said to him, ‘Don’t forget, a kshatriya has to offer a sacrifice to give thanks to the gods when he shoots down an animal for the first time.’

  I looked at Duryodhana. He was standing with his back to us, casually conversing with someone, as if what had taken place was a trivial thing.

  On the way back, I was right at the end of the group. Duryodhana and his gang had left earlier, so I ambled along slowly, listening to the calls of the forest birds. I could let my guard down.

  And then I heard the cries. These were cries of warning.

  A wild boar had jumped down from among the rocks, and now stood, confused, in front of the hunters. It was still for a moment, sniffing. Even from a distance, I could see its tusks, covered with red clay. I was wondering whether to move out of its way when I heard the cries again.

  The hunters used to say that a wild boar was more dangerous than a tiger. And this one was leaping at me now like an arrow just released from a bow. I was standing on a grassy ledge that lay on a forest trail stamped out by the feet of hunters. There was not even a tree nearby that I could hide behind. Terrified, I realized that the infuriated beast had caught my scent and was coming straight at me. It was pointless for the hunters to cry and shout and try to divert its attention. It was flying towards me like a sharp arrow fitted with tusks.

  Maybe this was the end. Impaled on the tusks of a wild boar, he who was destined to become the mightiest of the mighty would die, not even giving the sootas a chance to weave a heroic tale of the death of a warrior. This animal certainly did not know what the hunters had taught me – that a wild boar attacks with not a look at the ground, not knowing what obstacles bar its way. It was coming at me with its head raised, its tusks flared and its mouth wide open. Some power beyond my own strength forced my spear into the beast’s mouth, and I felt one half of the three-foot-long weapon penetrate it.

  As I was flung down, I remembered not to let go of the spear. The clay-smeared tusks were right in front of me, next to my chest. In the animal’s final thrust towards me, the spear-point pierced it even deeper. Confident that it would no longer be able to defeat me with its strength, I arched my body and drew myself up. The exhausted animal suddenly writhed in agony.

  As the frightened hunters came up, I planted my foot on the lifeless beast and drew out the spear. A stream of blood spurted out and sprayed my body.

  I felt I was on the verge of collapse. Arjuna placed his hand on my shoulder. I wound my arms around his neck and waited until I could breathe normally again. Then I smiled.

  ‘When we heard your screams, we feared it was all over,’ said the hunters.

  Had I screamed then? I did not remember. All my attention had been on the clay-smeared tusks. When had I screamed?

  Yudhishtira said gravely, ‘You blockhead, what a foolish thing to have done! Don’t let Mother know.’

  There were no cries of jubilation, no celebration to mark the occasion when I had first killed an animal. Nor did my elder brother mention the sacrifice I should offer the gods in order to please them.

  We walked away. But I had decided that I would offer my thanks to the gods anyway. I was certain that someone had lent my hands greater strength at the moment when danger had come so close to me.

  I was now fully aware of the strength I possessed. Maybe I was still a blockhead to my elder brother. And Vrikodara to the Kauravas. But Bhima had grown up and become mighty, I said to myself joyfully.

  I went to the river well before the hour for evening prayer and swam and played in the water. Then I immersed myself, climbed out and said my prayers. And that day too, the messenger came in the form of a gentle breeze, bearing a message meant only for my ears.

  Duryodhana and his companions arrived at that moment. They must have known I had come to the river earlier than usual.

  I knew there was no point in being afraid. Many hands stretched out and took hold of me. I kicked down some of the attackers. Curled fists pounded at me, but I felt no pain. Morons! They did not know that if they crowded around me, their own arms and legs would become useless. Pretending that I was overcome, I waited until I could imprison Duryodhana and Dussasana, who were both lunging at me, in my arms. Once I had caught them by their necks, I dragged both of them along and jumped into the river. They twisted and turned, making strange and horrible sounds, as I pushed their heads deep into the water. When it became certain that they would die if I held their heads down anymore, I let go of them. They climbed out with great difficulty, vomited water and sat down on the stone steps.

  I stood in front of them, holding my head high. Terrified, the other members of the gang had withdrawn to a distance.

  ‘If you come to attack me again – look at me, fellow!’

  Duryodhana raised his head slowly.

  ‘I’ll kill you,’ I said. ‘I’ll kill all of you!’

  The next day, I was summoned to Aunt Gandhari’s palace. All of us were summoned, so I was relieved, thinking it could have nothing to do with the fight on the riverbank.

  We filed in, Yudhishtira taking the lead. When we entered the small hall, we saw Mother standing there, with our aunt. The black cloth lying over her head covered only half of Aunt Gandhari’s face. Was it me that her eyes were searching for?

  Duryodhana and his younger brothers came in. They lined up to the left of us, in front of our aunt.

  Aunt Gandhari called me. ‘Son, Bhimasena, come here.’

  I moved forward slowly. She signed to Duryodhana to come forward as well. Could the eyes behind the black veil see me?

  Our aunt asked softly, ‘Have you already begun to fight with each other?’

  I did not answer. Duryodhana made an attempt to say something, but no words came out.

  Aunt Gandhari addressed all of us, ‘Let me know if you have begun to fight. Then I too will go to the forest, the same way our mothers and grandmothers went, and you can amuse yourselves fighting one another.’

  I had heard people speak of how our aunt had come as a bride from Gandhara to the city of Hastinapura, accompanied by her brother, Shakuni, a hundred bodyguards and a hundred servant maids. People had crowded at the gates of the fort to see the beautiful bride. The grandmothers received her, washed her feet, gave her innumerable gifts and led her inside. It was while the wedding celebrations were in progress that our aunt had learnt that the Kaurava prince, Dhritarashtra, was blind.

  When Grandfather Bhishma discussed the wedding with King Subala, her father, he had told him the truth, but the father had not told the daughter. Her brother, Shakuni, wanted to take her back at once to Gandhara, but our aunt consoled him. Subala had accepted the gifts that Bhishma sent, and consented to give his daughter in marriage. Honouring her father’s word, our aunt became Hastinapura’s bride. After she was married, she never left the palace. Even within it, she walked around with her face covered.

  It was this lady, our aunt, who was talking to us.

  I wondered whether Aunt Gandhari had forgotten that those who were listening to her were just young boys.

  ‘All the men of the Kuru race have enjoyed seeing their women weep. I know this …’

  Her head bowed, Mother whispered something that Aunt did not hear.

  ‘I grieve now for the brides who will come to each of you. The sighs of the princesses who were offered as sacrifices to blind and impotent men still float within these palace walls .’ Her voice faltered. ‘If you stand together, there will not be a single king in this world who will not pay tribute to Hastinapura and bend his knee before you. Do any of your teachers teach you this?’

  No one said anything. Only Yudhishtira bowed his head.

  Her slender fingers touched my arm. They were trembling.

  ‘Evil spirits wander in and out of this palace, disguised as astrologers and sages, waiting to see people fall dead. You should learn to live together; none of you is anyone elses enemy. This is something they will never teach you .’ She took her hand off me and said, with her head bowed, ‘If I hear that any of you has been fighting outside the area where you are being trained to use weapons, I will leave this palace at once. You boys can celebrate after that, killing one another and dying.’

  All of us were silent. Our aunt got up and went in, Mother holding her arm. An arm the colour of gold, on which her blue veins showed clearly. She is even more beautiful than our younger mother Madri was, I thought.

  We went our separate ways. I more or less understood that what our aunt had said was meant not just for us rivals, Duryodhana and me. But it took me many years to fully comprehend what she said that day.

  Although Aunt Gandhari had not made any of us take an oath in front of her, there was a manifest change in our attitudes. We no longer ignored one another when we met in the weapon house. Shukacharya once brought a Yadava who had been trained by Balarama to wage war with the mace. This man made me confront both Duryodhana and Dussasana and later Chitrasena as well. Sahadeva began learning how to use the sword. Whenever we sustained minor injuries, our opponent came to console us. All this time, Karna stayed apart from us, practising with the bow and arrow. He had a special teacher for archery, so for days together, he would not be seen in Duryodhana’s company. We forgot our old quarrels.

  One day, when we had no lessons, Chitrasena came and called me. ‘Come, everyone is ready.’

  I was in the elephant shed. A batch of elephants, newly arrived from Kamaroopa, were being trained, and I was riveted.

  ‘Where to?’ I asked.

  ‘To the water festival in Pramanakoti. All of us are going. Come on, everyone is ready to go.’

  Pramanakoti was a promontory on the banks of the calm Ganga. Bathing houses had been built there for members of royal families. Stone platforms and halls had been constructed for people to sit and watch the competitions that were part of the water festival. But strangely, even the night before, no one had mentioned this festival.

  ‘Who all are going?’

  ‘All of us, just us.’

  Duryodhana and his companions had gathered in the courtyard of the palace. The pleasure chariots used when going for festivals stood ready, horses harnessed to them.

  I went up to where Arjuna stood with Nakula and Sahadeva.

  ‘Isn’t our eldest brother going with us?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Smiling, Duryodhana came towards me.

  ‘Come. The cooks have already left. Don’t worry, the food will not be disappointing!’

  He patted me on my back.

  I went looking for my elder brother and found him playing dice with one of Uncle’s ministers, using vibheetika seeds as counters.

  ‘You haven’t yet left?’

  I had a feeling that he was not pleased at my having turned up at a time when he was learning to play the game.

  I wanted to say to him, if you are not coming, none of us is going. That was what I had been taught: whether we were going to fight a war, or perform funeral rites or celebrate a festival, my place was behind him.

  My elder brother was reluctant to stop playing a game he had begun to enjoy. But seeing me standing obstinately at the door, he muttered something and got up.

  Duryodhana had kept places for me, Yudhishtira and Arjuna in the first chariot. Nakula and Sahadeva were in the second chariot with Dussasana and Chitrasena.

  The Ganga curves inward in a semicircle at Pramanakoti over the spot where the water runs deepest. The water festival takes place in autumn. As we went down to the bathing ghat, Duryodhana said, ‘Let the chariots return. We’ll walk back along the riverbank in the evening.’

  Yudhishtira grunted assent. The disappointment of having lost a day he could have spent playing dice, his new passion, still showed on his face.

  As the chariots swung around to leave, I walked to the small garden just outside the bathing houses. There was a strong aroma of food. The cooks had built hearths on which many preparations simmered in huge metal cauldrons. One of the cooks from the big palace was supervising. Knowing how much I loved food, he said, ‘Wild goat and black deer are cooking. You can taste some pigeon flesh right away if you want.’

  There was a delicious aroma of cooking meats. I opened some of the packages that were ready. Country beans dipped in sugarcane juice and then fried, large ball-shaped modakams made of jaggery and powdered grains that had been fried in ghee.

  I ate just one modakam ball and left.

  I climbed a tall pillar, stood on top of it on one leg, arched my body and earned the admiration of the small boys who were standing below. I leapt into the water and swam, first lying flat on my back, then prone. Then I dived deep into the water, caught the unwary by their feet, frightened them and laughed. I made Chitrasena lie flat on my back and swam from one end of the bathing ghat to the other, astonishing the onlookers.

  Duryodhana was equally enthusiastic, and even after all the others had climbed out of the water, he and I continued to play in it. It amazed me to think we had been enemies once. When we finally went ashore, Duryodhana said, ‘Take your time.’ The servants came and took away our wet clothes. Duryodhana said to me, ‘We’ll eat last. I have a secret for you.’

  Everyone had crowded in to eat. Duryodhana called one of the servants and said to him, ‘Serve us in the place I told you about.’

  Duryodhana’s grand preparations at the beginning of the water festival made me feel very humble.

  The servants spread a sheet beneath the jamoon trees. As soon as the food had been set out on silver plates, Duryodhana signalled to them to leave. He picked up a piece of fried meat, chewed it and said, ‘I have something special just for you and me.’

  He opened a leather pot, sniffed it and nodded his head. ‘Liquor.’

  My first reaction was fear. We were not old enough to drink.

  ‘Fine liquor distilled from madhuka flowers. Only the lower classes drink liquor distilled from barley. This is very special and said to be fit for princes. Try it.’

  I took the leather pot from him and sniffed it. It had the smell of withered flowers. I gave it back to him and said, ‘No, we are not old enough to drink.’

  Duryodhana smiled. ‘You became a man the day you brought down a wild boar with your spear.’

  I knew that, although I was only eleven, my body was as developed as that of a boy of sixteen. I had begun to feel embarrassed at my nakedness when servant maids came to change the water in the bathing rooms.

  No one in the palace had commented on my killing the wild boar. Nor had I heard a single word of congratulation. Vidura had conducted a sacrifice in honour of Arjuna’s first kill and Bhishmacharya had given him an arrow fitted with golden wings as a prize.

  Duryodhana, whom I had considered my enemy, had been the first to praise me. My heart filled with love for this son of Dhritarashtra.

  He raised the pot to his lips, drank a mouthful and said, ‘The first animal he shoots down, the first enemy he kills, the first woman he enjoys: these are occasions every man remembers.’

  He was speaking in the grave voice of an adult.

  ‘The day he first drinks liquor is important as well.’ He smiled and drank again. Then he placed the pot on the ground and brushed back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. His face had grown flushed.

  ‘Your elder brother, Yudhishtira – he’s a clumsy idiot who has neither courage nor might. What will he do when he grows up?’

  What he had said about my brother did not please me. I had often thought that, though my brother excelled at learning the scriptures and could repeat anything he heard without making a single mistake, he was worse than Nakula in the weapon house. However, Duryodhana had no business saying so.

  Yudhishtira was being trained solely to govern the kingdom. Nakula would manage the affairs of the palace and care for the cows. Sahadeva would collect the taxes and control the finances. Arjuna would wage war and so would I. Although no one had described them clearly, all of us knew even then what tasks we would have to take up.

  Fortunately, Duryodhana did not pursue the subject. He looked at the pot of liquor I had pushed away and said, smiling gently, ‘If you’re afraid, don’t drink. Liquor is for grown-ups.’

  I stretched out my hand at once.

  It tasted both acrid and sweet. If I was to drink like an adult, I could not betray my dislike. Determined not to let him defeat me, I drank another mouthful. And then bit into the thigh-piece of a wild goat.

  Duryodhana told me that he would soon be going to Balarama to learn how to wage war with the mace. I was envious. Balarama was my mother’s eldest brother’s son. And yet, neither Mother nor Yudhishtira had considered sending me to him.

  ‘Do you know who the strongest king is?’

  I pondered the question. Not Balarama. Jarasandha had defeated him. I had heard about Jarasandha’s might in many ballads. So I answered: ‘Jarasandha.’

  Duryodhana smiled. ‘No, my father, Dhritarashtra, is the strongest. Jarasandha has only the second place. But my father will never wage war. Remember, he abdicated his kingdom long ago.’

  Duryodhana told me that his father’s strength, which equalled the might of 10,000 elephants in rut, was a boon from the gods.

  ‘I too will receive that boon after some time.’ He moved his clothes aside and pounded his left thigh with his fist.

  ‘The God of the Wind plucked mountains and juggled them like balls. He will give me that strength.’ Inadvertently, I had spoken aloud the prayer in my heart.

  Duryodhana’s laugh had a tinge of mockery.