When he finished and opened his eyes, everyone in the Dwaraka palace was standing around them, clapping. Kumara looked embarrassed by the first appreciation he had ever received for his talent.
Lord Krishna went up to him and asked softly, “What is the matter, son?”
“I do not wish to be a warrior.”
There was a horrified murmuring from the crowd. Valsala giggled with her hand over her mouth. ‘How dare she mock my brother?’ thought Lakshmana in fury.
“Follow your heart, son. That is your dharma. Do not worry about what the world thinks. The world is transient, but you are eternal.” Without waiting for an answer, Krishna moved into the crowd and the dancing resumed. Lakshmana had never seen her brother so happy before. Before long, Abhimanyu dragged Kumara into the party frenzy.
Later, she overheard Lord Balarama talking to his wife, Rohini, about how he hoped their Valsala would marry Kumara. When Rohini commented that the young Prince showed no Kshatriya qualities, Balarama replied sharply that the world had enough idiots running around killing each other, without Kumara adding to their number. Though Lakshmana could not help but smile when she heard it, she did not like the idea one bit. Something was obviously going on between her cousin Abhimanyu and Lord Balarama’s daughter. She looked at her dreamy-eyed brother sitting near the jasmine bush, his gaze never leaving Valsala. He was hopelessly in love with a girl who scorned him and loved another. Lakshmana thought she would have to keep an eye on Kumara.
But something else was making her uneasy as well. It was as if someone was continually watching her, ravishing her with lustful eyes. She felt naked and vulnerable. She could sense an evil presence near her. Even when Abhimanyu dragged her into the crowd to dance, she could not rid herself of the feeling. For an instant she thought of telling her cousin, but was afraid he would make a joke out of it. What was there to fear among this gay and laughing crowd?
Unexpectedly, a hand reached out between the press of people and pulling down the front of her blouse, groped her breast. Lakshmana was shocked, humiliated and embarrassed. She briefly saw a leering face before the man vanished into the crowd. Lakshmana wanted to scream. How dared he? Even her lips felt frozen. She sat down, the crowd pressing around her, afraid even to cry. The music stopped. Many people had seen the incident and others were now looking at her, asking what had happened. Meaningless questions. She had done nothing wrong. Some bastard had touched her. She sat in terrified silence. ‘How will I face everyone? Mother warned me about such situations, about my dress, my walk, my talk,’ thought Lakshmana regretfully. She had rebelled, calling her mother old-fashioned. Who would possibly dare touch the daughter of Crown Prince Suyodhana? Her mother’s words came back to her with alarming clarity now, that it did not matter whether she was a princess or a beggar, dark or fair, eight or eighty, she was a woman, and men would always be men. It was her duty to be careful. ‘I failed you, mother. I am so sorry. I should have been more careful. I feel so ashamed now of my dress, my hair, my face...’ Lakshmana pulled at the bodice of her dress, afraid people would gossip about her character.
Aunt Subhadra’s hand lifted her chin. Lakshmana wanted to get up and run to some place where nobody knew her, but Subhadra pulled her close. Lakshmana buried her head in Subhadra’s bosom and cried. She could hear Lord Balarama shouting orders and people running. She also heard whispers about the inappropriateness of her clothes. Lakshmana closed her ears. Leaning on Subhadra’s shoulder, she dragged herself to her room. As she was about to enter, something made her turn back. What she saw would remain with her to her dying day. Lord Krishna was staring at someone, his eyes aflame with murderous rage. Lakshmana’s heart stopped. The man who had disgraced her was none other than Lord Krishna’s son, Samba. Krishna gazed at his son with disgust and then turned away. Fleetingly, his eyes met hers. They pleaded with her. The great man was begging her not to expose his son.
Lakshmana allowed herself to be pulled into her room. She had lost all interest in being in Dwaraka. Subhadra sat with her for some time, comforting her, but the gaiety outside beckoned. The dancing had resumed. The insult to a woman’s modesty was an insignificant hiccup on a festive night. Finally Subhadra left, asking Lakshmana to bolt the door and try to sleep.
Lakshmana sat on the bed watching her shadow dance on the wall as the lamp flickered. The tears dried on her cheeks and she did not know when she slipped into a disturbed sleep. Unknown to her, a pair of eyes were watching her through a crack in the door.
*****
27 LUSTFUL EYES
WHEN LAKSHMANA ARRIVED IN HASTINAPURA, the city was bubbling with excitement. Kumara’s marriage was a great occasion and the city streets were festooned with colourful buntings. People had come from all over the country and they broke into spontaneous singing and dancing. She still felt guilty about what had happened at Dwaraka. She would have liked to have told her mother but was unsure how she would take it. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to chaperone her everywhere. Her father seemed to be constantly busy, always with great-uncle Shakuni at his heels. But where was Ekalavya?
That evening, the bridal party arrived from Dwaraka. Krishna and his favourite wife, Rukmini, were the first to alight, followed by Balarama and Rohini. Suyodhana bent to touch Balarama’s feet in reverence, as did all the Kauravas. Suyodhana and Krishna bowed politely to each other, followed by a brief, stiff hug. Shakuni, who was standing behind, also bowed to Krishna, who returned the courtesy with a smile – a challenge offered and accepted.
Bhanumati was trying to judge Valsala. No girl in the world would ever be good enough for her son. Abhimanyu tried to joke but his usual vivacity was missing. His long fingers briefly touched Valsala’s hand. Lakshmana saw the look that passed between them and almost stopped breathing. Why had Valsala agreed to this match if she was so much in love with Abhimanyu, she wondered fiercely. She had to speak to someone. Her mother was busy with the reception of Krishna’s many wives. Lakshmana had to warn her brother.
Suddenly she felt warm breath on the back of her neck. Who could be playing pranks? She turned back in irritation and all the stifled dread of the last few weeks came rushing back. She crossed her hands over her breasts and hurried off to find her mother. Bhanumati immediately began introducing her daughter to Krishna’s many wives, all of whom smiled and said how majestic the palace was, how beautiful the gardens, how pretty the whole scene! Caught in an endless round of chatter, Lakshmana kept mumbling greetings, trying desperately to keep her smile in place. But the fear of Samba’s presence close by was hard to ignore. Surely she had nothing to worry about? No one would dare touch her here, she kept telling herself. Then she saw him leaning against a pillar, ravishing her with his eyes. Samba winked and gestured obscenely. Even in her father’s palace, Lakshmana felt suddenly vulnerable. She was no longer safe.
*****
28 MISSION DANGEROUS
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU LOVE EACH OTHER? Why on earth did you agree to marry Kumara then?” Krishna asked his niece.
“Father was so happy about it,” Valsala said, choking down sobs.
This was getting difficult. While Krishna had never been keen on the marriage, his brother could be obstinate. Besides, Lakshmana Kumara was rather likeable, not at all arrogant like his father. With training, he could be made to understand the nuances of dharma. But Valsala’s confession had changed everything.
“Leave it to me,” Krishna said finally.
Abhimanyu and Valsala looked at each other, relieved. “You are our only hope,” Valsala said to her uncle.
Krishna looked at them wryly and placed his hand on his niece’s head in affection. The young lovers walked away, leaving Krishna worried. Had he committed to more than he could deliver? Years before, he had rescued his sister Subhadra from Duryodhana on the eve of their marriage. Now it was the turn of Subhadra’s son. He would have to make Lakshmana Kumara look like a fool and turn Balarama against Duryodhana in order to compel Duryodhana to call off the m
arriage. Could he pull it off? He regretted having to do it to Duryodhana’s soft-spoken son, but there was no choice. Krishna was one of the few who knew where the Pandavas were hiding. It had now become necessary to talk to Arjuna and ask for Bhima’s help. His head whirling with plans, Krishna galloped off in search of the Pandavas. There was no time to lose.
***
“I know, Arjuna, it is not an ideal situation, but we must think of Abhimanyu and Valsala’s happiness. Also, if the marriage takes place, it will strengthen Duryodhana’s position. It is in our own interest to stop it.”
“Abhimanyu should have told us this before. This is a dishonourable thing to do,” Yudhishtra mumbled. In the pale moonlight, it was difficult to discern his expression.
Krishna clucked his tongue impatiently. “You want to be the eternal wanderer? Don’t you want to sit on the throne of Hastinapura and rule Bharatavarsha as per the tenets of dharma?”
Yudhishtra remained silent but a mirthless laugh sounded nearby. Draupadi emerged from the shadows. “Dishonourable? Honour died in the Hastinapura Sabha. Duryodhana and his cronies deserve no mercy.”
Krishna smiled at Draupadi. “We have to shame the poor boy but it can’t be helped. People must say Lakshmana Kumara is an unworthy husband for Balarama’s daughter.”
“How will you do it? It’s a dangerous game, Krishna,” Nakula said.
“Dangerous? Cowards!” Draupadi raised her voice. Her five husbands did not dare meet her gaze. “Krishna, these men, if they can be called that, have grown soft eating nuts and berries. I will come with you instead.”
“No, Draupadi,” Krishna gently shook his head. “Don’t forget the terms. If they recognize you, it will mean another 12 years of exile.”
“Tchaw! Conditions of a rigged game of dice; unchallenged because my husbands lacked the courage to do so. Krishna, take me to the palace and I will thrust my dagger down Duryodhana’s throat.”
“Peace, my lady, peace,” Krishna said and turned to Bhima. “I need your help.”
“You have only to ask,” Bhima instantly replied, bowing low.
“Good. Come with me. We have to go over the mountain to meet someone who is prepared to do anything for you.”
“I do not know anyone living over that mountain, Krishna,” said Bhima, puzzlement written on his broad, handsome face.
“Ah, but he knows you, Bhima,” Krishna replied with a small smile.
“But that is the kingdom of the despicable Ekalavya,” Arjuna cried.
“The Nishada will be on his way to attend the wedding. Bhima and I can slip in, do our work and get out fast. It is best that the rest of you proceed to my vassal kingdom of Virata, in disguise. It is the ideal place to finish your incognito period of exile.”
“Duryodhana’s spies are everywhere. Hiding will be difficult,” Yudhishtra said, his voice tinged with weariness.
“Enter Matsya, the capital city, separately. Yudhishtra, you will present yourself as a dice expert. The Virata King is passionate about the game. It will then be simple for you to create a place for yourself as the King’s adviser.”
“Ah yes! Yudhishtra is indeed an expert in the game of dice,” Draupadi said, her mouth twisted with mockery. Everyone laughed, and even Yudhishtra smiled.
“Arjuna can be a eunuch – a teacher of dance and the fine arts.”
“Krishna, how can you suggest such a thing?” Arjuna protested as his brothers rocked with laughter and Draupadi nodded in agreement.
“Nakula and Sahadeva can work in the royal stables,” Krishna said, ignoring Arjuna’s indignant protests.
“And I?” Draupadi asked. In all their plans, she appeared to have been forgotten.
“My lady, you shall be chief maid to the Queen, the sairandhri.” “How can she be a maid? Draupadi is a Princess,” Bhima protested.
“Princess!” Draupadi snorted. “I will take the position, Krishna, if it is available. At least I will have food to eat and a roof over my head.”
“What of Bhima?” Yudhishtra asked quietly.
“Once we are back from our journey, he will apply for a position as a cook in the royal kitchens,” Krishna said. Bhima grinned; he had a role he would love to play. “But remember, none of you must ever be seen together,” Krishna cautioned. “Now you must be off immediately, before anyone suspects you were here or where you have gone.”
Long after the four Pandavas and Draupadi had left, Krishna kept thinking of how to pull off the audacious plan he had in his mind. It all depended on Bhima and Ekalavya not being present.
As day broke over the eastern horizon, Krishna and Bhima rode in silence towards the looming mountain in the north, into the kingdom ruled by the Nishada, in search of a Rakshasi’s son.
*****
29 SONS OF FORTUNE
SUSHALA DRAGGED HER SON TO ACHARYA KRIPA. After the shameful episode involving her husband, Jayadratha was as good as lost to her. He was abusive and spent more time in his harem with the women he collected by force or purchase. But she did not dare leave him for ear of the stigma that she had not been able to satisfy her husband. Nor did she dare tell her brother, fearing his wrath. All her hopes were pinned on her son, Suratha. Unfortunately, the boy had failed to meet his mother’s great expectations of a warrior son. The boy was afraid of his demanding mother and abusive father and rarely spoke a word. He was not a dreamer like his cousin Lakshmana Kumara, but a boy who feared the world.
“Acharya Kripa, only you can help him,” Sushala said, her hands folded before the maverick Brahmin Guru in supplication.
Kripa eyed the shy boy with pity and distaste. He was sitting in his usual place under the tree by the river. People going to the temple bowed to him and the Queen of Sindh as they walked by. Nearby, a cow munched on the banana leaves the priests had carelessly thrown out after distributing prasad.
“Are there not enough Gurus in Sindh who can instruct him?”
“None of them as good as you, Guru. They are unable to teach him well,” Sushala said, praying Acharya Kripa would agree. That would give her an excuse to remain in Hastinapura without setting tongues wagging.
Kripa leapt from his seat and punched the little boy. Sushala was shocked at the Guru’s action. Suratha began to wail fearfully, clutching his mother’s pallu. Sushala pulled her son to her, glaring at the crazy Guru.
“Princess, he cannot handle pain. You have made him too soft. It will be an uphill task to make him into a warrior. It would be better to teach him administration and mathematics. Take him to Vidhura. I shall send word to him.”
“No, Guru. I wish him to be a great warrior when he grows up. I beg you to take him as your disciple. I will pay whatever you ask.” Sushala hated herself for crying in front of the heartless Guru.
Kripa laughed. “Pay? You will pay me from what your husband has stolen from the people of Sindh? I would rather starve to death before I take that money. Moreover, I cannot take payment for a job which I am sure will benefit neither the teacher nor the student. My lady, your son is not destined to be warrior. Why should everyone be a warrior? I am sure the boy will grow up to be a decent man and perhaps a good king, if you let him.”
“I want him to be a Digvijayi, to be Emperor of Bharatavarsha when the time comes,” Sushala blurted, regretting it the moment the words escaped her mouth. Her son clutched her tighter, sniffling. Kripa looked at her with an amused smile and she averted her gaze.
“There are unscrupulous Gurus who will take your money and torture your poor child, badgering him to become what he is not. He is not made to be a warrior. Thank your stars that it is so. Send him to Vidhura.”
“I don’t want my son to learn from a Shudra. Do you wish the whole world to laugh at him? I know why you do not wish to teach him, Guru. You have always sided with the Pandavas. You think my son will grow up to be a threat to Arjuna one day and so you wish to discourage me.”
“I am afraid your son will defeat Arjuna? My lady, the sun is very hot and can muddle the brain
of those not used to its harshness. Please go back to the palace.”
“Guru, you insult me with your condescending words.”
“Pardon me, Princess, I meant no insult. It was but the advice of an old Guru to one who is like a daughter to me. Do not compel your poor son to be what he is not.”
“You are not the only Guru, Acharya Kripa. I will hire the best teachers in Bharatavarsha or beyond. Mark my words, my son Suratha will defeat Arjuna one day. Pranaam, Guru. I am sorry to have wasted your valuable time.” Sushala turned sharply, dragging her son behind her.
The chariot which had been waiting at a distance, rumbled towards her in a cloud of dust. Without looking back at the Guru, Sushala climbed in and pulled her son up. She asked the charioteer to take them back to the palace. Suratha’s skin felt feverish and he moaned with pain. Sushala caressed the shoulder where Kripa had hit him. The bruise had turned blue and begun to swell. How dared the Guru hit a Prince? Kripa got away with everything. For generations, the Kuru Kings had allowed him to behave with no respect towards royalty. There was nothing she could do about it, but she vowed to show him and the world that her son could be a great warrior. She no longer wished to stay in Hastinapura; she would go back to Sindh and hire the best Guru. She would ensure no one called her son a coward.