“Bhanu, have I failed Karna? Have I sacrificed Aswathama?”
‘Karna! He is the one who has changed my husband!’ Bhanumati clenched her fists. Why was he so important to him? More than Pitamaha, more than her. Something jarred in her mind whenever she thought of the Suta, noble and righteous though he was. ‘Perhaps it is Karna’s almost inhuman righteousness and generosity that frightens me,’ she thought.
As if reading her mind, Suyodhana stood up. He drew aside the silk curtains and stood with his hands gripping the window frame. The sun was rising over the Ganga, turning her waters into a sheet of gold. The fresh morning breeze carried the smell of blossoms, the chirping of birds and the faint shouts of the boatmen. “Bhanu, see the sun in his divine glory. I can see the face of Karna there.” He turned back to Bhanumati, his hair fluttering in the breeze. “It is a new day, the dawn of a golden future.”
She did not reply but her hands felt stiff. If Karna died in the war with the Confederate, she would get her husband back, for herself. She shuddered at the thought that singed her soul. ‘Oh God, it is a sin to even think like that. Karna, of all people! Forgive me, oh Shiva!’
“I am sure they will return, Bhanu. Both of them will be back. I have thirteen years to prove myself. Do not let this foolish incident with Draupadi and her husbands stand in the way of our happiness. I have no regrets. That woman and her husbands deserved it. May they never return. I am determined to create a world where no one is miserable, where a ruler can rule without discriminating; create a country where nobody goes hungry to bed and the law is equal for men and women, rich and poor alike. I need my friends with me and they know it. They will return and we will prove all this to the world. Bhanu, our kingdom will not deny men like Karna what is due to them because of caste, or be cruel to Nishadas and untouchables. I want to get into the cause of the Naga problem and resolve it. I want to do a hundred thousand things. I want the whole world to love me for my fairness; I want to be known as a righteous man who did not care for caste, who gave Karna, the noblest man of all, his life. I want my people to think there is no one better than Suyodhana. They will not hate me for what I did to that woman. There is no one who deserves the throne more than I. It is a new day, a new beginning.”
Bhanumati looked at him in surprise. He had spoken of his dreams many times before but something was different now. Something was unfamiliar, as if the window to the darkest place in Suyodhana’s mind had opened and light was falling on the dust in the corners. She felt she understood him now but wished she did not. Even his love for Karna was a reflection of his love for himself, his love for glory and fame. How then was he different from the Pandavas he hated? Was there a Yudhishtra hidden inside Suyodhana and vice versa? Was Duryodhana taking over Suyodhana?
“You are no different from Yudhishtra,” she said. Her hands flew to her mouth as if to stop the spoken words.
Suyodhana’s head snapped towards her in shock and anger. She wanted to look away but knew this was a decisive moment in her life. He walked to the door. “I cannot forgive or forget that,” he said.
“You cannot forgive me?” Bhanumati said, her voice choking with sobs. “It is you who should be asking for forgiveness, Suyodhana, for the way you treated Draupadi, not me.”
“Enough, woman! You are my wife. Do not forget your place. I have done nothing wrong. I am a Kshatriya.”
“Kshatriya! When has disrobing women become a Kshatriya trait? You talk about a caste-free society, yet stand on Kshatriya pride.” “She insulted Karna!” thundered Suyodhana.
“Oh, forget Karna. You and your friends! May the Suta never return from his war with the Southern Confederate! May the Brahmin die in Gandhara!”
Suyodhana rushed towards Bhanumati. Grabbing her hair, he pulled back her head. She saw murder in his eyes.
With a calm voice that made Suyodhana weak in the knees, she said, “Do it, Suyodhana. Kill me. It will not change the fact that what you did was wrong.”
The grip on her hair loosened. He turned away from her. She folded her hands and pleaded, “Natha, please. Ask for her forgiveness. Give your cousins their due. Be the husband I knew. Please...”
Suyodhana stood towering over her, the white shawl over his shoulder flapping in the breeze. The small lamp in the corner flickered, throwing light and shadow over his face in crazy patterns. A sudden gust snuffed it out and the smell of the burning wick filled the room. In the golden light of the rising sun seeping into the room, Bhanumati saw his face and all hope died.
***
Far away in Dwaraka, Ekalavya’s army had surrounded Krishna’s city. As the Nishada looked at the domes and spires of Dwaraka shining golden in the sunshine, he clenched his teeth in seething anger. The prosperity of Dwaraka was a sore sight when millions of Nishadas and Nagas lived no better than animals.
When the fort gates opened and Balarama’s army rushed out to confront the Nagas, Balarama was a worried man. He could feel the energy of Nishada’s army and sense their bloodlust. If only he could reach Ekalavya before too many people died in the pointless war, he might be able to convince him about the futility of all this violence. He could not capitulate or it would be nothing short of shameful surrender. As the King of the Yadavas, he had a duty to lead his people to victory, to protect them. Fight he would, but if there was a way to achieve a truce and avoid bloodshed, he would find that way.
A cruel smile played on Ekalavya’s lips at the sight of Balarama’s army. Victory was finally going to be his. He could see it in the way Balarama held his bow, the way he looked at his men, the lack of enthusiasm in the Yadava war cries. Without Krishna for protection, Dwaraka was going to succumb easily. He turned to his companions. “If Balarama offers a truce, we will seem to accept and then kill him once we enter the city. We will burn the city, kill all the men and take all the women. Their treasury brims with the wealth they have grabbed by exploiting the downtrodden. We will distribute it among our people. “
Balarama was walking into a trap.
*****
7 SERPENT HUNT
TAKSHAKA WAS GETTING IMPATIENT. Why had Krishna’s army slowed down? Why had the wily Yadava dismounted? Had he sensed the trap or was it just a coincidence? His men were getting restless. A gray moon shone reluctantly in the sky. He cocked his ear to listen to what Krishna was saying to one of his men. The breeze was unfavourable and he could not hear what was being said. One of the Nagas coughed and Takshaka’s heart skipped a beat. Had it alerted Krishna? Had he heard? He hissed at his men to be silent.
***
“What has happened?” asked Kritavarma, sitting proudly erect on his horse. He was the Commander of the Narayana Sena, the famed elite corps of Yadava warriors trained personally by Krishna. Kritavarma had once been a close friend, but the carnage at Indraprastha had caused them to drift apart.
“Let us halt here.”
“Krishna, are you mad?” Kritavarma asked, surprised.
“I am tired and the boys, too, need a rest.” Krishna’s eyes never left the boulders in the distance. ‘I should never have spared Vasuki when we caught him in Indraprastha,’ he thought.
“So you would rather halt here and see Dwaraka reduced to rubble? Why are we wasting time?” Kritavarma asked, raising his voice.
“What can a few Nishadas do to us?” Krishna’s heart was pounding in his chest. If only he could provoke the Commander, he might be able to pull off something. “I have seen many Nishadas in Khandiva; they ran like mice before a cat when Arjuna and I...”
“Krishna! I do not wish to hear anything more concerning your disgraceful conduct in Khandiva.”
“The Nagas are cowards. Why should a Nishada scare you, Kritavarma? We should have stayed in Indraprastha and enjoyed the evening instead.”
“Don’t get me started on your amoral Pandava friends!”
“Kritavarma, you only say that because my brother, Balarama, has an inexplicable fondness for Duryodhana.”
“I get it now, Krishna, w
hy you want to halt in this wilderness. You are aiming at the throne of Dwaraka. You do not wish to save our Dwaraka at all!”
“My brother is a wonderful man but not the leader the Yadavas need now. It is better that he be defeated. The Yadavas can then elect a fit person as King, someone who can...”
Krishna felt the cold tip of Kritavarma’s sword on his neck. “Another word about Balarama and you are dead.”
Krishna tried hard to suppress a smile. Kritavarma had taken the bait. Krishna tugged at the reins of Kritavarma’s horse and it plunged forward in pain, throwing Kritavarma to the ground. Krishna laughed, hoping to provoke him further.
Had a head popped up in the distance? It was dark, with only a few sorry stars staring down from a bleak sky. When Kritavarma tried to get up, Krishna kicked him and laughed again. No warrior worth his salt could swallow such an insult. Kicking a fallen man! That too, a reputed warrior like Kritavarma!
“Draw your sword, you...you...” Kritavarma stood up, stuttering in rage, unable to spell out the insult that frothed in his mouth.
Krishna walked up to his own horse and took down his sword. He took his time removing it from its sheath and then began polishing it with deliberate strokes, as if he had all the time in the world. His eyes never left the boulders in the distance. Another head popped up and vanished in the dark. Krishna slipped his barbed discus into his waistcloth and then walked towards Kritavarma. By the time he reached his Commander, the Narayana Sena had split into two factions and most had dismounted from their horses. One group bowed to him and he acknowledged them. The other group stood behind Kritavarma, watching the proceedings with hostility.
“Let us decide the rules of the duel...” Kritavarma did not finish.
“Attack!” barked Krishna to his supporters.
Kritavarma’s mouth opened in surprise. They had not even agreed on the rules of combat, yet Krishna had ordered an attack on him! Before he could react, men were running towards him with drawn swords.
“Kill those unscrupulous Yadavas,” Kritavarma shouted, parrying a deadly sword swipe with his own blade.
His followers attacked Krishna’s men. Soon, what should have been a civilized duel, turned into a full-fledged battle. Krishna kept himself to the periphery of the fighting men, far from the enraged Yadava Commander. He kept taunting Kritavarma about his lineage to fan his outrage. Men began dropping dead on both sides. Limbs were severed and faces gored. There was blood everywhere. The Yadavas were hacking each other to death. Over the din and fierce cries of battle, Krishna’s eyes kept searching for any movement from the hidden enemy. Nothing stirred. His men were dying in a battle he had started. Had he lost the gamble?
***
“Don’t move!” Vasuki hissed to Takshaka, but the Naga leader was getting restless. The Yadavas were fighting each other to the death and this was the most opportune moment to finish off the notorious Narayana Sena, as well as Krishna himself. “That cunning Yadava and his tricks!” Vasuki hissed again.
‘Perhaps he is and perhaps he is not,’ mused Takshaka. The Yadavas had always been notorious for their in-fighting and drinking.
“We only have to delay them enough for Ekalavya to take Dwaraka. Don’t bat an eyelid. Be still.” Desperation sounded in Vasuki’s voice.
‘Why is he using that tone with me, the cranky old man?’ Like a thunderbolt, the answer struck Takshaka. ‘Wily old rascal! He knows that his own plan of making Ekalavya leader of the Nagas will fail if I get Krishna.’
“Krishna is faking it. Stay here!” Vasuki cried as Takshaka rose from his hiding place.
‘If the cunning Yadava was faking the battle, would he allow his own elite soldiers to die like this?’ Takshaka wondered. No, it was real.
Vasuki grabbed Takshaka’s wrist in a last ditch attempt to stop him. The revolutionary leader pulled his hand away with contemptuous ease. “Attack!” he shouted.
Screaming and yelling, the Nagas ran towards the Yadavas. They did not see Vasuki get up and run through the scrub and desert as fast as his tired old legs could carry him. Neither did they see Krishna who was no longer among the group of fighters hacking each other to death.
***
At last! Krishna heaved a sigh of relief when he saw the Nagas leave their hiding place and rush towards them. He crouched behind the carcass of one of the slain horses. The smell of death hung in the air. Twenty of his elite soldiers were dead and many others wounded in the in-fighting.
Takshaka was only a few feet from Kritavarma when Krishna rushed from his hiding place towards them. Holding his Sudharshana chakra in one hand, he hacked his way through the melée with his sword in his other hand, not bothering to see whether it was a Naga or Yadava he was cutting down. Takshaka and Kritavarma were engaged in deadly swordplay. Krishna hurled himself on the Naga leader. They fell to the ground, rolling over. In a trice Krishna had prised Takshaka’s sword from his hand. When the dust settled, Takshaka was on his knees with Krishna standing behind him. The sharp edge of the Sudharshana gleamed against the dark skin of Takshaka’s throat. There was an angry roar from the Nagas and they rushed to save their leader, swords and lances at the ready.
“Ask your men to drop their arms.” Krishna’s voice was calm. A smile played on his lips.
“Kill him!” Takshaka barked and a few Nagas stepped out, ready to strike Krishna.
“Don’t tempt me, Takshaka,” Krishna said and yanked the Naga leader’s head up by the hair. He pressed his Sudharshana harder and a fine red line appeared on Takshaka’s throat. Drops of blood dripped onto the earth, making dark blotches where Takshaka knelt. One by one, the Nagas dropped their arms.
“Now you die,” Krishna said without emotion.
But before he could slit Takshaka’s throat, Kritavarma grabbed his hand and tried to prise away the Sudharshana. “Krishna, this is ignoble and unfair. You gave your word.”
“Kritavarma, you fool... let me do my duty.”
Takshaka seized his opportunity as the Yadavas argued. He scooped up some sand and threw it in Krishna’s face. The split second during which Krishna loosened his grip was enough for Takshaka, who wrenched out of Krishna’s grasp and fled for his life.
“Catch him!” Krishna yelled in frustration. His eyes were still itching from the sand and he was unable to see clearly, but he knew the Nagas were escaping. By the time his sight cleared, all the important Naga rebels had gone.
“Satisfied now?” Krishna asked the still fuming Kritavarma, shaking his head in exasperation.
“Krishna, what you did was both dishonourable and deceitful. This is not the warrior’s way…”
“My friend, an ambush was waiting for us. They would have slaughtered us had we walked into it. I had no other choice but to provoke you...”
“You are a genius, Sir,” one of the older soldiers cried. “We did not realise it was part of your plan.”
His men lauded his wisdom as Krishna stood basking in their praise. The night grew old and streaks of grey appeared in the east. If only Kritavarma had not stopped him from doing his duty. Why did he not understand this was war and there was nothing unfair about winning? But the Commander burned with anger and humiliation.
“Come, let us forget this and go on, Kritavarma,” Krishna said, extending his hand.
“Forget what, Krishna? The death of twenty of my finest boys? What will I say to their families when I return to Dwaraka? You feel smug that you have saved the majority. That is poor consolation for the families of the dead, killed by their own comrades in arms. How will I face their widows? What a dishonourable victory!”
Krishna sighed as he looked at the smoke rising from the funeral pyres built for the dead soldiers. Then he turned and yelled at the top of his voice, “Let us rush to Dwaraka, my friends. There is no time to lose.”
The elite cavalry rapidly fell into formation. Krishna’s horse shot forward like an arrow and the Narayana Sena galloped behind him. They rode for the better part of that day, stopping only t
o rest their horses and have a quick meal. Krishna tried to make amends to Kritavarma, but the Commander refused to speak. By evening, they had reached the outskirts of Dwaraka.
“Oh my God!” Krishna cried in anguish. A huge army of Nishadas were engaged in a pitched battle with Balarama’s men.
“For our motherland, for Dwaraka, and for Balarama...” Kritavarma raised his sword high in the air and rushed into battle. His men rode behind him with daredevil bravery.
Krishna shook his head in dismay. When would his people learn? There was no point in being chivalrous towards enemies who attacked an undefended city or waited in ambush. It was neither cruelty nor cowardice to beat them with cunning and skill. In this game, there were no rules or laws; only winning mattered. The man who was fighting so nobly would have been the first person to break the rules had he known what lay in store for him. Krishna felt pity stir for Kritavarma, but he did not have the luxury to stand and watch them get butchered by the Nagas. Dwaraka had to be saved at any cost. His brother would see goodness even in his enemies and walk into a trap. Krishna would have to do something daring again, something distasteful to people who forgot to look at the whole picture. He had to do what he felt was right without worrying about the results and what others would say about his methods. He had to perform his karma.
Krishna took out his Sudharshana and began moving towards the enemy. His form merged with the shadows. He had to find Ekalavya before his brother met the Nishada.
*****
8 REFUGE
“SISTER, WHY ARE YOU LEAVING THE PALACE?” Gandhari asked.
Kunti ignored her, seething with rage. She ordered the maids to pack only two saris and no ornaments. She would not take anything that belonged to that hated Duryodhana or his blind father. She would leave the palace with only the possessions she had brought when she came with her sons. Kunti did not want anyone’s charity, not when she had five warrior sons.