‘My friend, I do not want the empire Krishna offered me. If anyone deserves it, it is you, Suyodhana. You gave your unconditional love without asking about my caste when the whole world shunned me. I could not win the war for you, dear friend.’ Garbled words came from Karna’s mouth, meaningless and useless. But no words were necessary. Their friendship went far beyond words. An arrow shot at an unarmed man could not destroy it. Suyodhana pressed his friend to his bosom, his tears washed away by the tears of heaven.
Karna, the man whose life the Gods were fond of playing dice with; the man who had chosen to remain a low-class Suta when an empire was offered to him on a platter, died in his friend’s arms. The war lost all meaning for Suyodhana.
*****
72 THE KILL
WHEN HE LEARNED AFTER KARNA’S DEATH that Shalya had abandoned his friend at the most critical juncture, Suyodhana ordered Shalya hunted down and killed. In the small hours of the eighteenth day of the war, as Suyodhana lay tossing in his bed, he sensed a presence in his tent. He sprang up, his warrior instincts alert to the presence of an intruder in his camp.
A figure stood in the shadows, head bent. “Suyodhana, it is I, Shalya. Forgive me for what I have done.”
Grabbing his sword, Suyodhana rushed at the traitor, but Shalya said, “You have every right to kill me. I was a traitor in your camp for I hated the Suta. My ego was hurt when you made me the Suta’s charioteer. I wanted Karna to fail, and discouraged him with my harsh words. All night I hid in the jungles beyond Kurukshetra, thinking about the rights and wrongs of the war. I know I was responsible for the death of the noblest of men. It did not matter that he was a Suta. What I did is hurting me like a dagger in my heart. I came to beg for your forgiveness, a chance to redeem myself. I am a maharathi and a better warrior than all the Pandavas. I shall defeat them for you, for the man I cheated. I shall kill Krishna and Arjuna today if you will let me fight for you. But if you prefer to hang me for treason, I am ready for that, too.”
Suyodhana shouted for the guards to tie up Shalya. The maverick had surrendered without protest. Suyodhana was unable to decide whether to trust the blackguard or not. Finally, when dawn was breaking, he walked to Kripa’s camp and sought his advice. The Acharya said they were at a stage when they should accept anyone willing to help them. The situation was desperate. Only a few warriors remained. If he was to make good of the situation, it was best to make Shalya the Commander-in-Chief. Suyodhana consulted Aswathama and Sushasana and they, too, were of the opinion that none was equal to the maverick Shalya in warfare and strategy, provided he bent his sharp mind to it.
Just before battle resumed on the eighteenth day, Suyodhana freed Shalya and appointed him Commander-in-Chief of the Kaurava armies. Shalya bowed to Suyodhana and assumed charge. Kripa watched, an amused smile on his face, as the new Commander called for a strategy meeting. The first thing he did was to ensure there was no hand-to-hand combat or individual duels. They had to attack as a united front; they would break the rules and form unconventional formations that weren’t in any book on warfare. Only winning counted, winning was dharma, the new Commander exhorted his troops. Suyodhana felt uneasy, but he had no choice.
The first half of the eighteenth day saw the bloodiest slaughter. Shalya attacked aggressively, defeating Bhima, Nakula and Sahadeva, causing them to retreat hastily with their troops. His aim was to corner Krishna and then kill both him and Arjuna. By the time the sun was a hot ball of fire over their heads and the shadows were short dwarfs running under their feet. Shalya had demolished the last of the Pandava resistance. He tied spikes and lances to the wheels of the chariots and raced through the enemy battalions, cutting down horses, making elephants panic and using lethal powders. Poisonous arrows and oil pots flew fast and furious, creating orbs of fire. The Pandava situation was becoming hopeless. Yudhishtra was overcome by despair.
Krishna manoeuvered his chariot to reach Yudhishtra and told him that he would create a diversion but that Yudhishtra would have to act quickly. He would tempt Shalya to follow him in his chariot and Yudhishtra would then use his lance to strike him down from behind.
Horrified, Yudhishtra protested that he would do no such thing. He had not killed anyone in the war; others had done the butchering for him. “Krishna, I cannot take anyone’s life, even my enemy’s. Life has taught me many things and …”
“Brother, you want us to kill for you while you yourself will not lift your little finger? Talk of ahimsa on the battlefield are the words of a coward. Do as Krishna says, or else we are doomed. You are a Kshatriya. We are fighting to make you King,” Arjuna snapped.
“But Shalya is our uncle, the brother of our step-mother, Madri.”
“He is our enemy now. I killed Pitamaha; I killed our beloved Guru for you. Everyone we are fighting is kin, including Duryodhana. This is war, brother. Do your duty, or else adharma will triumph,” Arjuna said, his eyes never leaving his brother’s face. Krishna smiled.
Before Yudhishtra could react, Krishna’s chariot had vanished into the thick of battle, rushing headlong towards the Kaurava Commander. Yudhishtra waited with a heavy heart for it to return, with Shalya in chase. The lance felt heavy in his hand.
Soon, an uproar was heard and dust rose to cloud the sun. Men and chariots came rushing towards Yudhishtra. Krishna’s chariot flew past him in a blur and he heard Krishna shout, “Now!” Yudhishtra closed his eyes and threw his lance with full force at the chariot chasing Krishna and Arjuna. He opened his eyes when he heard the shouts of jubilation around him. ‘Maharaja Yudhishtra Vijaya!’ his soldiers were shouting.
In the chariot that had toppled over, Shalya lay dead, a lance through his heart. His accusing gaze pierced Yudhishtra’s heart, sharper than the lance he had hurled at his uncle. Yudhishtra collapsed in his chariot, his hands shivering. He had killed his uncle, that too, by attacking from the rear. He had thrown his lance at the back of the Kaurava Commander...like a coward... a man with no honour. It was amoral, adharmic... Suddenly he remembered the Nishada woman and her five children in
Varanavata. His mother had told him they had to do it to save themselves. Now he was a man in his prime and life had taught him that nothing good could come from violence. But he felt as helpless as a twig caught in a flood. He could smell the blood on his hands, the blood of his kin, the blood of men he had once respected and loved.
“I will go and finish Dushasana and Duryodhana,” he heard Bhima say.
Victory was at hand, but it failed to cheer the son of dharma.
*****
73 THE LAKE
HE HAD FAILED THEM ALL. He was a despicable creature. He had kept hope alive till Shalya fell. Now there was nothing left. Suyodhana’s teeth chattered as he lay submerged in the icy Samanthapanchaka lake. It was bone-chilling cold but nothing could soothe the burning inside him. He had stayed in the lake the whole night, trying to shake off the smiling image of Karna. Kumara’s innocent face haunted him. No, he could not give up. This was a strategic retreat. He needed time to think. He had to live somehow to fight another day. If he dug deep into himself, surely he would find the courage? The Pandavas had broken every rule of war, yet they had won. No, the war was not over yet, and never would be, until dharma was restored. It would continue with or without him.
Who was that? Suyodhana heard a twig snap. Had they found him? His mace lay half-buried on the slushy shore. He was not sure he even had the strength to lift it, let alone fight with it.
“Get out of there, you fool! They will find and kill you.”
Acharya Kripa! Suyodhana lifted his head from the water. Two figures stood behind Kripa. One was the Yadava Commander, Kritavarma, and the other was...
“Suyodhana, I have failed you. I failed Karna,” said Aswathama. Suyodhana did not want to face him. “Suyodhana, Bhima killed Sushasana a short while ago. Your brother fought to the last. Bhima downed him with a kick to the groin. He tore Sushasana’s arm from his shoulder. When Sushasana raised his other arm in defianc
e, Bhima cut off both his hands. Still, Sushasana did not utter a cry of pain. He spat in Bhima’s face and laughed at him. Can you believe that? Enraged, Bhima tore open Sushasana’s chest and drank his blood. Then Draupadi, too, came to drink Sushasana’s blood. The rage that woman carried within her! She finally bound her hair after thirteen years, having first dipped it in your brother’s blood. She could not stop laughing.”
“Enough, Aswathama!” snapped Kripa.
“They killed Karna when he was helpless. They killed my father with a lie. They killed Bhishma through deceit. They killed Sushasana with a foul kick... should we allow them to win after all this? If they win, no one will ever believe in dharma again.”
“Aswathama, my friend, get away from here. Run as fast as your legs will carry you. Save yourself to fight another day. Carry the flag for all of us,” Suyodhana said, looking into the distance where the sky dissolved into the lake. “Can’t you hear the victory celebrations from their camp? Bhishma still waits for death on his bed of arrows, but they do not care. Mercifully, everything will be over soon.”
“Kritavarma and Aswathama want revenge. I have been trying to talk sense into them. Nothing good will come of such foolishness,” Kripa said with utter certainty.
“The celebrations in the Pandava camp will not last long,” vowed Aswathama, gritting his teeth.
“Suyodhana, this rash fool will not listen to me,” Kripa said.
“Aswathama, they will not treat you harshly. You are a Brahmin and they know what they did to your father. I have to fight to the end but you must survive, for all of us, for dharma to win,” Suyodhana said to his friend.
“So you think I should become their Rajaguru, like my father? You think they will spare me because I am a Brahmin? Do you really think I want to lead such a life after what they have done to you, to Karna, to countless others?”
Suyodhana wanted to tell Aswathama to leave the past behind, but the bitterness in his heart refused to go away. It was through a travesty of justice that the Pandavas had won the war and he was hiding like a water rat. Suyodhana scooped up some water and looked at Aswathama. His friend waded into the water and stood before him. The image of the wispy Brahmin boy whom he had saved from Bhima years before rushed to his mind, choking him with tears.
Perhaps Aswathama was remembering the same thing for he said with a crooked smile, “That mango you gave me years ago...”
“You never got to eat it, though. Ekalavya snatched it from you.” They laughed. The mention of Ekalavya brought back bitter memories. No, it was not justice that the Pandavas had won everything. Suyodhana poured the water over Aswathama saying, “I appoint you Commander-in-Chief of the Kaurava army. Vijayi Bhava!”
Kripa snorted. “A Commander-in-Chief of an army of three!”
Aswathama hugged Suyodhana. “Don’t hate me when you hear what I have done.”
“I will be dead by then, my friend. But you still have a chance to go back and claim the exalted life of a Rajaguru.”
Aswathama dunked under the water and stayed there for some time. When he emerged, the sun was rising out of the blood-red lake. The Brahmin took water in his trembling palms and recited the holy Gayatri mantra. Mist rolled down from the distant hills and countless birds swooped around in the rushes by the lake. It was a beautiful day. A good day to die.
Suyodhana closed his eyes as Aswathama touched his shoulder. He heard the splash of water as his friend climbed out onto dry land. A cold breeze carrying the stench of blood and decaying flesh from the battlefield caressed him. He thought of the patriarch still lying on his tortuous bed of arrows, waiting for the spring solstice, waiting to die. ‘Forgive me, Pitamaha, I never knew your worth when it mattered,’ thought Suyodhana. In his mind, he was still the little boy who had sat on Pitamaha’s lap, embarrassed to kiss the old man in public. The bristle of his beard, the smell of the sandalwood paste on Bhishma’s forehead – a thousand memories...priceless...useless.
“There he is!”
Suyodhana prayed for courage. They had found him. He opened his eyes to see Krishna sitting in his charioteer’s seat, caressing his whip and smiling at him. How he wished he could have wiped that smirk off the Yadava’s face. Behind him stood his enemies, smug in victory. No, not all of them. A shade of distress clouded Yudhishtra’s eyes and Arjuna’s brow was furrowed with worry. Why did he not get down from his chariot? Suyodhana could hear people rushing in from all sides. Drummers came running, preparing for a bloody show. Overcome by sorrow and pain, Suyodhana watched his subjects jostle and push each other to watch him die. Some looked sad but most of them seemed excited to be present at the kill. Nothing was more entertaining than the fall of a great man.
The crowd parted for Dhaumya. “Come out of the water, you coward!” Dhaumya drove his staff into the slushy earth and the crowd cheered.
Suyodhana raised his head, his eyes blazing with their old fire. Dhaumya took a step back, trying to free his staff from the mud. Suyodhana came out of the water, tying his hair into a topknot. He shook the water from his body and slapped his thighs. Dhaumya disappeared into the crowd, leaving his staff of office behind. As Suyodhana bent to touch the ground and say a silent prayer, the crowd fell silent. He picked up his mace from the mud, wiped it clean and placing it on his shoulder, walked up to drier ground. On the way, he crushed Dhaumya’s staff like a twig.
Thunder clapped overhead and dark clouds swirled from the southern horizon. The wind howled, snapping the gnarled branches off dried trees. Huge waves from the lake smashed against the rocks on shore and shattered like dreams. A surge of water rushed ashore, hugged Suyodhana’s legs and then returned to its cold abode in the lake. Like the tears of heavens, drops of rain began to fall. The parched earth, drunk with blood for eighteen days, drank the cleansing rain like a thirsty beast.
The panicked cry of an owl filled the air. Suyodhana looked up and saw a group of crows chasing it. Bad omens! But he had arrived at a point where he no longer cared about omens, good or bad...or anything else. Suyodhana stood with his heavy mace on his shoulder, waiting for any of the Pandavas to make the first move.
*****
74 OORUBHANGA
“WHY NOT SURRENDER, DURYODHANA?” Krishna asked.
Suyodhana neither looked at Krishna nor responded to him.
“Surrender, and we shall spare your life. We may even give you a vassal state to rule. You surely know your time is done.”
Suyodhana ignored Krishna and stood staring at Yudhishtra. “Who is first? I can also take on all five of you together.” If his cousin had expected him to plead for peace and accept his suzerainty, he was living in his own fantasy. An owl fluttered above, blinded by daylight, struggling to reach the darkness of the forest. Somewhere, a dog howled.
“Choose one among us. If you win, the throne of Hastinapura is yours,” Yudhishtra said. The son of dharma had gambled again.
Suyodhana could not help smiling when he saw the expression on Krishna’s face. Destiny was giving him one more chance. He walked up to Yudhishtra and gazed at him from head to toe. It would have been a simple matter to pick Yudhishtra for a duel with maces and smash his head to pieces. He moved on to Arjuna’s chariot and said clearly, “Karna...Drona...Bhishma...” Arjuna turned away, ashamed. The twins, Nakul and Sahadeva, blessed with perpetual boyish good looks, stood straight as arrows under Suyodhana’s gaze. ‘Men who refused to grow up,’ he thought as he turned away. ‘Tchaw!’
“I choose Bhima,” Suyodhana said. The tension eased out of Krishna’s face. It was a duel Suyodhana had always yearned to fight, a childhood dream nourished from the time he had hidden under his blind father’s bed, quivering in fear of his hefty cousin.
‘Bhanu, Karna, Aswathama... strengthen my arms.’ The crowd parted as Suyodhana moved to the centre. It was silent except for the chirping of birds.
Bhima picked up his mace and walked forward to face Suyodhana. “Kill him, Bhima! Kill the devil!” Draupadi’s voice rose into the air like
a shrill chant. The crowd roared with excitement and the drums began to beat.
Bhima charged like an elephant. Suyodhana ducked at the last moment and Bhima lost his balance. Suyodhana’s mace connected with Bhima’s shoulder, drawing admiration from the crowd. Bhima spun around and hit back. Suyodhana blocked him. The power of Bhima’s mace was shocking. Suyodhana countered Bhima’s brute strength with agility. Bhima brought down his mace again and again, smashing the ground. Suyodhana dodged and danced back, landing powerful hits on Bhima’s shoulders and chest. In excitement, the frenzied crowd began calling each warrior’s name in turn, urging each one to kill the other...smash the head, crush the chest and batter the face. The drumming rose to a deafening pitch.
In time, both warriors began to show signs of fatigue but neither gave up. Suyodhana’s hits started to affect Bhima. There was no doubt in the spectators’ minds about who was the more skilful and who the stronger. Skill against power, agility against force, the duel raged on as though there was no end.
The chance came when Bhima stumbled. Suyodhana rushed in to smash Bhima’s head. From the corner of his eye, he saw Krishna tapping his thigh with his flute. What trick did the Yadava hide behind his smile? The answer came as binding pain shot through his thigh. Suyodhana staggered and fell. Bhima had hit him below the waist, against all rules of duelling, and shattered his thigh. Suyodhana collapsed onto the ground in pain and anger. Treachery! Deceit! Bastard!