AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2)

  “There seems to be no end in sight,” Suyodhana said.

  “You can always stop it,” Bhishma replied, lifting an eyebrow.

  “But we are not winning, even with you in command.”

  “We are not losing either.”

  “Pitamaha, twelve of my brothers are dead and you tell me we are not losing? We should allow Karna to fight.”

  Bhishma’s eyes turned to his nephew, burning with fury. “What is it that you ask, Suyodhana? That we let a Suta fight our battles for us?”

  “Pitamaha, we all know you are not allowing the men to go after any of the Pandavas.”

  “Are you telling me how to conduct the war, Suyodhana? Are you here to perhaps instruct me on strategy?”

  “So many have already died.”

  “Oh, so many have died? What was it you expected when you started this foolishness? You will be sick of death and destruction long before this ends.”

  “I want the Pandavas dead. You are protecting Arjuna. Unless we take him down, this will never end.”

  “Are you accusing me of disloyalty?” Bhishma asked softly, taking a step forward to stand inches from Suyodhana. “I am not a slave you won in a gambling game, nephew. I chose to fight on my own terms. If I have not killed any Pandava, I have not allowed you to be killed, either.”

  “My brothers are dead, Pitamaha, we must win this war and end it quickly. The casualties are mounting and the drought situation has worsened. More people are dying on the streets without food than are being slain in Kurukshetra.”

  “Would you like a truce?”

  “No, not after what they have done; not when I know what they would do to my people if they win.”

  Bhishma took a deep breath. “Then what is it that you want?”

  “Kill Arjuna.”

  “No, I will not allow any of my grand-nephews to die. All of you are my blood, the sons I never had.”

  “Were not those who died your grand-nephews, too, Pitamaha? Or were they not important because they were Dhritarashtra’s sons and evil Duryodhana’s brothers? Allow Karna to fight! He is not related to anyone and he will not have such qualms.”

  “This is not Karna’s war. I do not want a Suta to fight under me.”

  “Pitamaha, I know that is not your real reason. There are Kiratas, Nagas, Asuras, Rakshasas and Nishadas fighting in our army. Perhaps you are afraid Karna will achieve what you could not?”

  “I have nothing left to prove anymore, Suyodhana. Not to you and certainly not to Karna.”

  “Pitamaha, the soldiers are saying I do not care for their lives. Any more of this and we will have a mutiny on our hands.”

  Bhishma stared at Suyodhana and then turned away in silence.

  “Pitamaha, give me an answer. Should we summon Karna?”

  “No, Karna is impulsive and could change everything.”

  “If Arjuna goes down, Yudhishtra will sue for peace, demand a truce. Arjuna must be killed before the sun sets tomorrow.”

  “I will defeat him,” Bhishma’s words barely reached Suyodhana.

  “He has to die, Pitamaha.”

  Bhishma sat on his spartan bed, waiting for Suyodhana and Aswathama to leave. Finally, they bowed and left the old man alone. The pain in his chest had returned. His hands were shaking. He had lived too long for anyone’s good. ‘Ma Ganga, your son has become a burden to all.’ Tomorrow, he would kill Arjuna and be done with it. If that was the price for saving his country, he would do it. Or perhaps he would sacrifice himself instead.

  *****

  59 LIABILITY OF CONSCIENCE

  THE NINTH DAY BELONGED TO BHISHMA. The grand old Commander was like a natural force – a hurricane, a rampaging elephant, a tidal wave. His commanders executed various attacking formations like krauncha vyuha, garuda vyuha and sarpa vyuha at lightning speed. From opposite flanks, Drona and Kripa attacked the Pandavas and drove Arjuna’s akhshounis to face the central thrust of Bhishma’s attack. Aswathama cut off Bhima’s men from the main body, while Kritavarma pinned down Drupada’s men.

  By afternoon, Bhishma had penetrated deep into Arjuna’s akhshounis. Twice, Arjuna found himself face to face with his grand-uncle. Both times Bhishma cut off Arjuna’s bow with contemptuous ease. He had two opportunities to shoot at a weaponless Arjuna, but the old warrior waited for his opponent to pick up his spare bow. Krishna managed to rescue Arjuna by skilful driving, getting the chariot away from Bhishma both times.

  The sun was about to set and Bhishma did not wish to take any more chances. The war had to end. He deployed his yantramuktha astras and blasted his way through Arjuna’s defences. With needlepoint precision, his hastamuktha arrows destroyed Arjuna’s cache of weapons. For the third time that day, Arjuna found himself helpless before the old warrior.

  “Krishna, I cannot find my Gandiva. The moment I touch my bow, Pitamaha’s arrow will kill me.” Weapons lay scattered on the chariot floor and acrid smoke stung Arjuna’s eyes.

  Krishna looked at Bhishma, standing poised to shoot his final arrow at Arjuna. The war was almost lost for the Pandavas.

  Krishna whipped the horses and the chariot lunged towards Bhishma, taking him by surprise. Bhishma’s charioteer veered and Krishna shot past.

  Bhishma’s chariot turned and gave chase. The two chariots weaved through the fighting men, parting the elephant corps and shattering the ordered ranks of cavalry. Warriors stopped fighting to watch the deadly chase.

  With a sudden jerk, Krishna turned his chariot. Bhishma’s charioteer pulled at the reins with both hands. The chariots stood facing each other. Bhishma was deep inside the Pandava lines, cut off from his men. The Pandava army closed in. Krishna had trapped Bhishma but the seasoned warrior stood rock steady in his chariot, his face calm, his muscles taut. He shot an arrow, knocking the pin out of one of Arjuna’s chariot wheels. The wheel rolled away and the chariot tilted to one side, throwing Arjuna off balance.

  Krishna jumped down from his seat and rushed to Arjuna. “Pick up your Gandiva, it is behind you,” he yelled urgently, pointing at Bhishma. Arjuna’s grasping hand found the bow and instantly he was back on his feet, bow at the ready, to shoot back at Bhishma. But Bhishma had put down his bow and was standing unarmed.

  “Kill him now!” Krishna urged, but Arjuna hesitated to shoot the unarmed Pitamaha.

  “Arjuna, the sun has set. I have stopped fighting as per the rules of war. We will meet tomorrow,” Bhishma said.

  Arjuna put down his Gandiva and bowed to his grand-uncle.

  “What are you hesitating for? Kill him!” Krishna urged yet again. But Arjuna shook his head and walked back to his broken chariot.

  “You have forgotten all your lessons, Arjuna. If you do not kill him, I will,” Krishna declared. He raised the fallen wheel of the chariot from the ground and held it above his head, ready to throw it at Bhishma.

  Bhishma did not blink. He just gazed back at Krishna, his hands folded. “I am honoured to die at your hands, Krishna. Kill me if you wish, but protect dharma.”

  The wheel fell from Krishna’s hands, raising a cloud of dust. He nodded his head and followed Arjuna. Bhishma’s chariot turned around. The Pandava army, which had surrounded him, parted to let the Commander of the Kaurava army pass. Bhishma felt content Arjuna had not shot him as he stood unarmed. Neither had Krishna flung the chariot wheel at him. There was still hope for the country. Both sides were fighting according to the traditions of war.

  As dusk crept over Kurukshetra, Bhishma passed Iravan’s severed head on the pole. Once again, sorrow and doubt seized his soul. The grand old man of Bharata took a deep breath and prayed, ‘May dharma win.’

  That night, in the camp, Suyodhana confronted Bhishma again, questioning his actions, accusing him of disloyalty. Why had he not shot Arjuna when he had had the chance? Bhishma asked whether Suyodhana preferred the dishonour of winning by ignoring the rules of warfare? Suyodhana had no answer.

  As Bhishma and Suyodhana argued on about the ethics of war, unknown
to them, a ruthless conspiracy was being hatched in the Pandava camp to bring the patriarch down.

  *****

  60 EUNUCH SHIELD

  MIST CRAWLED FROM THE RIVER, giving an eerie feel to the night. The howls of jackals rose and fell. The flapping of vulture wings could be heard as they feasted in the dark. Even the music of Krishna’s flute could not transcend the dread in the Pandavas’ minds as they sat around the fire warming their hands. Finally, Krishna put away his flute and chided Arjuna for not killing Bhishma when he had the chance.

  Arjuna merely shook his head. The war was nearly lost. Duryodhana stood on the verge of victory. “I see no way to stop Pitamaha. The way he is leading the army sends shivers down my spine. What is the use? Even if Pitamaha goes, there are Drona, Kripa, Karna, Aswathama and Duryodhana to reckon with. The list is endless.”

  “Patience, Arjuna. One person at a time. Let us deal with Bhishma first. We must trap him into using his own vows.” Krishna tapped the flute at his waist, a smile on his lips, waiting for the Pandavas to speak.

  “How do we do that?” asked Dharmaputra Yudhishtra.

  “He would never fight a woman...”

  “I will fight him then. I cannot forget his silence when the Kauravas tried to strip me in the Sabha,” said Draupadi. No one could doubt her courage or willingness to fight.

  “Oh, Draupadi, the real man among the Pandavas. But it cannot be you, my dear. We cannot field a woman against Pitamaha.”

  “You are contradicting yourself, Krishna,” Yudhishtra pointed out.

  “Oh future King of Hastinapura, calm your mind. Why do you worry when I am with you?” Krishna put a hand on Yudhishtra’s shoulder. Then he turned and called, “Shikandi!”

  The eunuch walked in and the Pandavas gasped. “It would be demeaning for Bhishma to fight Shikandi. We can also claim he is not a woman, so we have not broken the rules of war. Arjuna could stand behind and...“

  “No!” Arjuna shouted, revolted by the very idea of such subterfuge.

  “Arjuna, there is no other way. Dharma must triumph.”

  “No, not like this! Not against the man who has always been fair to everyone. Not by hiding like a coward behind this creature.”

  “Then let Duryodhana become King and you can go into exile for another thirteen years.”

  “Krishna, let me fight! Bhishma will not see tomorrow’s sunset. Let me fight Drona, who professed love for Arjuna, yet when the time came, sided with evil. Let me fight that unscrupulous son of the Guru and claim the precious stone he wears. Let me fight Kripa, let me fight all the men who remained silent when I was being shamed,” Draupadi said fiercely, her long hair blowing wildly in the wind.

  Krishna took Shikandi’s arm and walked out. Draupadi would take care of the others. It was unfortunate but there was no other way to stop Duryodhana from winning.

  “For decades, one dream has possessed me – to kill Bhishma and avenge my mother’s death. I am grateful for this opportunity, Lord Krishna. I am your humble servant,” Shikandi said.

  “Good, but you must be at your feminine best tomorrow.”

  “I will charm the old man, just wait and watch,” Shikandi replied with a coy look.

  An owl hooted in the dark and another answered. Their hooting went on and on until the eastern horizon grew grey with weariness.

  ***

  Even Draupadi could not make Arjuna change his mind. The next day, his vyagra vyuha formation, which remained in waiting, struck back whenever the enemy least expected it, alternating lightning strikes with a languid pace, which confused the Kaurava army. For the first time in nine days, the battle turned against the Kauravas. Arjuna effectively used the yantra muktha missiles to strike deep into the enemy ranks. By afternoon, he had slain seven more of Dhritarashtra’s sons.

  By late afternoon, Bhishma struck back. By killing the Kaurava Princes, Arjuna had crossed an invisible line and there was nothing now to hold back the veteran general. Vyali vyuha, the dragon formation, was Bhishma’s answer to Arjuna. He moved around his chariots holding the yantramuktha missiles, spitting fire into the enemy ranks while the elephant corps wreaked devastation. He followed it by a quick cavalry attack, like the lash of the dragon’s tail. Bhishma was within hailing distance from Arjuna when dusk spread its mantle over the battlefield.

  When Pitamaha’s first arrow struck Arjuna’s shoulder, he was shocked. “Krishna, Pitamaha has reached me again.” Another arrow missed Arjuna’s throat by a hair’s breadth.

  “Die a fair death and leave your wives at Duryodhana’s mercy,” Krishna suggested in a flat tone.

  “Call that creature!” Arjuna shouted as another arrow knocked off his headgear. He knew they were warning shots. The next one would pierce his throat.

  “Shikandi!” Krishna called and the eunuch jumped into the chariot.

  They turned and rushed towards Bhishma. Something exploded behind them – another of Bhishma’s powerful weapons. Time was running out. Bhagadatta, King of Kamarupa, cut across their path on his war elephant, trying to block them. Krishna wove the chariot past, lashing the elephant with his whip as he rushed past. The elephant trumpeted in pain and grabbed at them with its trunk. They barely escaped its maddened fury.

  Arjuna saw Bhishma standing in his chariot, his bow drawn. His arrow tip caught the setting sun and looked like it was on fire. Shikandi moved to stand in front of Arjuna. The smell of the jasmine flowers the eunuch wore made him want to vomit. Shikandi began making lewd gestures at Bhishma. The Pitamaha’s blazing eyes said it all. He put down his bow and stood staring at them. Shakuni hurled the choicest and the most obscene abuse as their chariot halted a few feet away from Bhishma. Arjuna flinched when he looked into his granduncle’s eyes. The look of disappointment and sorrow in those eyes would remain with Arjuna till the end of his days.

  “Shoot!” Krishna ordered. Looking away, Arjuna shot Bhishma. The eunuch’s shrill laughter echoed round him. Still hiding behind the eunuch, Arjuna shot the next arrow. He was so close he could hear his arrow pierce Bhishma’s body. He shut his eyes and shot another arrow. Shikandi kept screaming obscenities. Not a cry of pain, not an accusation, not a reproach, not even a word of advice escaped Bhishma’s lips. Scores of arrows pierced his body, yet the grand old man of Bharata, the son of Ganga, refused to fall and die. And he refused to raise his weapon against a perceived woman.

  Arjuna recoiled in disgust when Shikandi’s lips kissed his cheeks. He knew what it meant. Pitamaha had fallen. Bhishma lay on a bed of arrows – his arrows. More than fifty arrows had pierced his body. Shikandi danced round the fallen figure in wild abandon, howling with laughter and making bawdy gestures.

  ‘Oh, Krishna, what have you made me do?’ Arjuna cried in silent anguish, his heart filled with grief. But his friend was watching Shikandi’s bizarre dance with a slight smile. Arjuna rushed to Bhishma and fell at his feet. “Forgive me, Pitamaha...”

  “My son...” Bhishma turned his head away.

  The celebrations continued around the fallen Commander. The victorious warrior sat sobbing at Bhishma’s feet, trying to find solace in Krishna’s advice that the soul was immortal and nobody could kill anyone. Then why did he not feel detached from his actions? If dharma had prevailed, why did his heart drown in sorrow? “Forgive me...” Arjuna wept, kneeling beside Bhishma who lay on his bed of arrows.

  When Suyodhana heard the news, the darkness blotted out his vision. Had his constant accusations caused the Pitamaha to fall? The throne they were fighting over belonged to Bhishma. Suyodhana felt he was as much responsible for Bhishma’s death as his cousin, Arjuna. His words had been sharper than any of Arjuna’s arrows.

  As darkness fell over Kurukshetra, Suyodhana knew it was time to recall Karna. His friend was not bound by any false sense of duty to the Pandavas. He had risked the wrath of the priests and earned infamy for Karna, whom he loved more than any of his brothers. The Suta he had made into a Kshatriya, would win him the war. Suyodhana called a guard and aske
d him to fetch Karna.

  As the messenger galloped off to fetch Karna, Suyodhana could hear the loud celebrations from the Pandava camp. Iravan watched with all-seeing eyes, awaiting the arrival of the Suta who had been summoned to pay his dues.

  *****

  61 SURYAPUTRA

  KARNA WAITED FOR ARJUNA TO LEAVE Bhishma’s side. It was almost dawn but Arjuna refused to move. Karna was afraid the old warrior would die before he could speak to him. He had many questions to ask. Why had Bhishma always been unfair to him? It was cruel to ask a dying man such questions but Karna knew he must if he were to ever find peace. Just when he had decided he would have to confront Bhishma despite Arjuna’s presence, Yudhishtra arrived and took him away.

  ‘Tears are cheap once deceit has done its work,’ thought Karna as he walked towards Bhishma and stood over him. No sound escaped Bhishma’s lips. Not even on his deathbed did he let others know he was in pain.

  Bhishma sensed someone’s presence. “Who is that?” the rich voice was a travesty of itself and a lump formed in Karna’s throat.

  “It is I – Sutaputra.” Karna moved to kneel beside the fallen warrior.

  “Karna, my son, there is something you must know. You are Kunti’s son, the eldest of all,” Bhishma whispered.

  “No, Sir, I am Radha’s son.”

  “Karna, don’t you recognize who you are?”

  “Sir, I am a Suta of low caste, who refused to be intimidated by the accident of my birth.”

  “Do not be cruel to your mother, Kunti, Karna. The blood of Lord Ramachandra flows in your veins. You belong to the Suryavamsha.”

  “My mother is Radha and my father is Athiratha, the charioteer. I have no divine lineage.”

  “You are punishing us all, Karna. You alone can stop this war.”