AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) (23 page)

“Speak up, fool!” Suyodhana raised his voice to his son.

Abhimanyu, standing beside Lakshmana Kumara, suppressed a grin. His cousin was in trouble yet again. Bhanumati had tried to stop her son from being friends with Subhadra and Arjuna’s gifted son, but to no avail. Kumara was devoted to his cousin. Each time Abhimanyu visited Hastinapura to pay his respects to Lord Bhishma and Guru Drona, he made it a point to visit them too. He had charmed Suyodhana with his winning ways and skills as a warrior. It did not help that Subhadra often accompanied her son. Bhanu saw the look in Suyodhana’s eyes when he looked at Subhadra. No, she was not jealous, but no husband should look at another woman that way. She was not envious, Bhanu told herself, but the son, he was so cocky!

“Have you swallowed a stick?” Suyodhana asked, slapping his thigh. “Why are you slipping in weaponry practice? The Acharya says you are fit only to be a clerk. You are a Kshatriya, Kumara, grow up! What have you to say for yourself?”

Abhimanyu intervened with barely concealed glee. “Uncle, my cousin does not wish to be a warrior.”

“He is never going to be one. Look at his limbs. Is he a boy or a girl?”

Bhanumati recoiled at Suyodhana’s harsh words. Kumara’s soft brown eyes, so like his sister’s, filled with tears. How nice it would be to wipe that smug smile off Abhimanyu’s face, Bhanumati thought. The young warrior stood ramrod straight, running a thumb over the sharp edge of his sword.

“What do you want in life, son?” Suyodhana finally asked. Bhanumati wanted to grab her son’s hand and run from the room. She knew what was coming.

“Would you like me to tell my uncle, Kumara?” Abhimanyu asked solicitously, a mischievous smile on his fine lips. Kumara’s eyes pleaded with his friend to remain silent. “Uncle, my cousin wishes to be a poet,” Abhimanyu said, unable to hide the laughter in his voice.

There was an uneasy silence. Kumara eyed his father fearfully. Bhanumati wanted to rush to her son and hide him in a protective embrace. But it would have embarrassed him, he was almost fifteen and she could see the shadow of a moustache above his upper lip. How quickly children grew up!

“Perhaps it is best you go to someone I know. He changed my life; maybe he can change yours, too,” Suyodhana said in a weary voice from which all mockery had fled.

“He is not going anywhere.” Bhanumati stood up.

“Would you prefer your son to be called a sissy all his life, Bhanu? He is a Kshatriya; he has to rule this country one day.”

“He would be fine if only you would stop badgering him like this.”

“Enough! When I need your advice, I will ask for it. This is between father and son. Stay out of it, Bhanu.”

“He is my son, too, Suyodhana,” Bhanumati stated adamantly.

“Why do you insist on arguing about this, Bhanu? He is a wimp, a loser. People laugh behind our backs. Is that what you want? He should learn from his cousin. Just look at Abhimanyu.”

“Abhimanyu is the son of a great warrior – Arjuna.” The words were out before she could bite them back. She had crossed the line. She waited for Suyodhana to lash out at her with furious words, and was more pained when he ignored her and turned to his son.

“You will go to Dwaraka. I will write to Balarama today.”

“My brother is going to Dwaraka!” Lakshmana said, excitement lighting up her lovely face. She had been sitting quietly behind her mother throughout this exchange.

How Suyodhana’s stern expression relaxed whenever he looked at his daughter, thought Bhanumati. She was so beautiful! How was she to protect her daughter from the preying eyes of the world? Lakshmana was so impulsive and trusting. Her father adored her. She was everything her brother was not.

“I will go with
bhrata
to Dwaraka,” Lakshmana said, eyeing her mother and smiling at her father.

“No, you will not. You are not a little girl any more, Lakshmana. You are almost of marriageable age, and I cannot have you roaming all over the country unattended.”

“Ma, do you think I cannot take care of myself? What age were you when you were married? I am only fifteen!”

“Times are changing, Lakshmana. In my time it was acceptable for a woman to choose to remain single until her late twenties. Now, parents marry off their daughters even at the age of twelve.”

Lakshmana knew she would not be able to get around her stern mother so she walked up to her father, head tilted in the way he loved, and cajoled, “Father, please let me go. I want to be with
bhrata.”

Bhanumati knew she had lost. Suyodhana could never say no to his daughter. In a last ditch attempt, she said, “The roads are infested with bandits.” She did not know why but she felt extremely uneasy about the whole proposition.

“Bhanu, do you think someone would dare harm a Princess of Hastinapura?” Father and daughter laughed aloud. The very idea was ridiculous.

Bhanumati could stand it no more. “Do what you want. Has any of you ever listened to me? Do I even exist?” She stared out of the window in frustration, feeling helpless and unhappy that her husband no longer came to her when he needed solace, upset that he never talked to her about his dreams. Did he have any dreams left, other than to cling to the throne? Kumara came up and put his arms around her gently, trying to comfort her. She could feel his emotion.

“Are you a five-year-old to hold your mother and weep?” asked Suyodhana, disgusted.

Abhimanyu choked back a laugh. His cousin was so entertaining.

“Does your cousin’s distress amuse you, Prince?” asked Bhanumati.

Abhimanyu looked away, embarrassed. He turned and quickly walked out of the room.

Kumara looked up at his father, his face expressionless, but he did not remove his comforting arm from around his mother’s shoulders.

“Ma, Abhimanyu is the only friend Kumara has. He is more like a brother to him than a cousin,” Lakshmana said.

“Abhimanyu cannot be trusted,” Bhanumati replied with quiet certainty. She waited for her son to say something but Kumara stood in silence.

But Lakshmana had never taken anything in silence. “Ma, everyone loves Abhimanyu. How can you say such things about him?”

“It does not matter what others say. I know he cannot be trusted,” Bhanumati replied, looking straight into Suyodhana’s eyes, daring him to contradict her.

“You hate Abhimanyu because you are jealous of Aunt Subhadra...” Lakshmana began, but her petulant words died at the stricken look on her mother’s face.

How it hurt when her daughter said things she thought she had hidden from the world, Bhanumati thought as she turned away from her son, daughter and husband.

A corpulent man entered the room without being announced. His eyes had vanished into his puffy face, but the grin could not have been wider. Bhanumati hastily drew her
pallu
over her head.

“Arrange for the Prince and Princess to travel to Dwaraka, Yuyutsu,” Suyodhana said and turned his back on the newcomer.

“So my little Princess is going to Dwaraka? I will arrange the best chariots for you. Will two hundred servants be enough to make you comfortable?” Yuyutsu asked, bowing.

“Hastinapura has enough chariots of its own. Why should my father need to borrow a chariot from a merchant?” Lakshmana asked imperiously.

“We are family, Princess. What is mine is your father’s to command and what is his is... shared by the family,” Yuyutsu said, beaming. “Why be angry with a poor merchant, my Princess? I am your uncle. Hastinapura owes me a lot of money but I care only about its progress. Though I am the eldest, I am satisfied with some small profit, as is a Vysya’s
dharma.
Your father knows this.”

Bhanumati looked at Suyodhana but her husband’s face wore only a look of weariness. Where had his anger vanished to? The merchant smiled and walked out.

Suyodhana sighed and turned to his son. “Plan your trip to Dwaraka with Abhimanyu. I will write to Balarama. Come back a man, a warrior, not a whining dreamer. Take your sister with you. I am going to the South and I want to see you a man by the time I return.”

“Oh thank you, Father!” Lakshmana rushed to hug Suyodhana. His tense face relaxed as he patted her hair.

Before Bhanumati could protest, Suyodhana walked out of the room. His harsh words hurt her but his indifference pierced her heart. She looked at her daughter, so full of life, so full of joy. Some deep maternal instinct told her that something terrible was going to happen to her daughter. If only she had the power to stop her precious one from going to Dwaraka.

*****

24
   
D
IFFERENT
G
ODS

KARNA WENT TO VISIT GURU PARASHURAMA
when they reached Muzaris but Suyodhana refused to see the Guru. Parashurama warned Karna of the dire consequences of breaching his trust and Suyodhana interfering with the beliefs of the Confederate kingdoms.

One hot and humid morning, what Karna feared most happened. Despite his best efforts, Suyodhana insisted they travel into the countryside. They galloped south, leaving the imperial army on the banks of the dry Poorna River. What he saw turned Suyodhana’s mood black.

“How have you allowed such atrocities, Karna? I have never seen such a madhouse in my life. Forget human beings, they have even graded animals and trees as touchable and untouchable!”

What explanation could he possibly give to his Guru if Suyodhana acted on his own principles, wondered Karna anxiously. “I gave my word to my Guru that I would not interfere in their affairs,” he said, but the excuse sounded lame even to his own ears.

“What do you need with such a Guru?” Suyodhana struck his thighs in anger.

Karna’s gaze met Aswathama’s eyes and he read the accusation in them, too. Karna’s anger rose. Was it his fault that the people of the Confederate followed rigid caste rules? Was he himself not a victim of that prejudice? What was he supposed to do? Murder anyone who talked about caste? Perhaps he should have started that in Hastinapura, when he was publicly humiliated and ostracised. He pressed his lips together in hurt silence. The last thing he wanted to do was to argue with his friends. He wanted to be back with his family, to see his wife and sons. This place sickened him, he felt choked by the guilt of what he should have done.

By noon of the third day of their journey south, when the sun was a white blaze over their heads and they were drenched in sweat, they finally reached a decrepit-looking village. Hungry and thirsty, they seemed to have lost their way. Every village looked alike, with dried up ponds and dusty trees. The drought had sapped the life of this once evergreen land. The thatched roof huts looked as though they might fall down at any moment. Urchins playing in the mud paused to look wide-eyed at the strange men riding through their dirt lanes. Some women ran to collect the children and herd them into the huts. The men sitting in their mud verandas stood up in alarm and gaped at the warriors.

“Can we get some water?” Suyodhana asked a scrawny man, but received no response. He gestured with his hands for water and the men stepped back in horror, as if he had spoken unutterable words. “We just want some water. Can you not offer water to thirsty travellers? We have lost our way and...”

There was a murmuring among the men. Karna knew why the villagers were so afraid. He also knew his friend would wish no harm to fall on the hapless villagers, but before he could warn Suyodhana, an old woman offered the Crown Prince a mud pot. He took it gratefully and drank the contents like a dying man given a reprieve. The murmuring among the crowd grew louder.

“Swami, punish me,” the woman said with trembling lips. A little girl came to stand near her, looking at them with round eyes.

“Punish? Mother, why should I punish you?” Suyodhana asked as he passed the pot to Aswathama.

The Brahmin took one look at the contents and squirmed in distaste. Karna could feel his heart beating under the armour he wore. He knew why the woman was afraid, she had given Suyodhana toddy – the drink of outcasts and untouchables. By drinking from the hands of an untouchable tribal, the Kshatriya had lost caste. Suyodhana could regain his Kshatriya status only by killing her and doing sufficient penance. God knows how many gifts he would have to give the Brahmins and how many ritual sacrifices he would have to make to annul this sin.

“I am an untouchable, Swami. By taking toddy from me, you too have become one. Kill me if you want, but please spare the village. We have little...” The old woman’s voice trailed off as she held the little girl close.

Suyodhana looked at her, trying hard to comprehend what she was saying. When Karna explained, Suyodhana jumped down from his saddle and gently took the woman’s shrivelled hands in his own. He looked into her eyes and said, “Mother, why should I punish you? You placed the thirst of a weary traveller over your own life. Bless me like you would bless your son.”

The woman did not understand the words, but it did not matter. She put her dark hands over Suyodhana’s greying mane while the crowd looked on, shocked. “Who are you, my son? For the first time in our wretched lives, we are seeing a high-born person behave like this.”