AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) (32 page)

When they reached the prison, Shakuni presented the order to the Deputy Chief. “Where is the Chief?” Shakuni asked. The Deputy responded that the Chief was taking a nap.

“This is Lord Krishna, the Yadava Prince,” Shakuni said, introducing his companion.

Hearing the name, the Deputy immediately fell at Krishna’s feet saying, “Bless me, my Lord. We are blessed indeed to see the
avatar
of Lord Vishnu with our own eyes.”

Shakuni rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “The Lord is in a hurry,” he prompted. “He has come to fetch his son who is in this prison due to some misunderstanding. Please take us to his cell.”

“With pleasure, Prabhu.” The Deputy stood up.

“You can stay here. Just tell us the way,” Krishna said.

The Deputy’s face fell but he traced the way to Samba’s cell in the sand with his baton. “Prabhu, forgive me, but no arms are allowed inside,” he stammered apologetically. With great reverence, he collected Krishna’s
Sudharshana
disc and Shakuni’s jewelled dagger. As Krishna and Shakuni entered the dungeon, the Deputy called out, “Sirs, the Nishada King is making an inspection of the facilities also.”

Shakuni and Krishna looked at each other. “You have left him alone without worrying over his safety?” Krishna asked, trying to hide the rising tension in his voice.

The Deputy looked embarrassed and said in a low voice, “Sir, no guard was willing to go with him as he is an untouchable.”

“Fools... idiots...” Krishna hissed and ran into the dungeon.

Shakuni struggled to keep pace. Prisoners’ screams filled the air as they moved through the underground prison. As they turned a dark corner, they could hear the rhythmic sound of a hard object hitting metal. A bloodcurdling cry rose above the din and Krishna ran towards it, stumbling over the rocky surface. Shakuni knew what the sound was and thanked his stars. They had made it just in time.

The door to the last cell stood wide open. In the opposite cell, a savage-looking man with a waist-length beard was screaming murder. He rattled the bars and tried to twist open the heavy metal lock with his hands. Durjaya! A shiver passed through Shakuni’s frame. Thirteen years of incanceration in this dark dungeon had made Durjaya look devilish. When he saw Shakuni, he stopped yelling and the brief silence sent a chill down Shakuni’s spine.

“Nishada!” Krishna screamed.

Shakuni looked into the cell. Ekalavya was sitting on Samba’s chest, choking Krishna’s son to death. Krishna tried to prise him away. In the throes of death, Samba thrashed his legs wildly. Krishna reached for his
Sudharshana
and uttered a curse. They had left their weapons at the prison gate. With all the force he could muster, Krishna hit Ekalavya, but the Nishada did not even feel it. Samba’s life was ebbing away. However much he tried, Krishna could not prise Ekalavya’s hands that held Samba’s throat in a vice-like grip.

Shakuni searched the rough floor. If only he could find something hard, a stone perhaps. The rock Ekalavya had used to wrench open the cell door grazed his fingers. Krishna had almost given up hope when Shakuni handed him the stone. With all the pent up anger and rage he felt, Krishna brought it down with great force on Ekalavya’s head. There was the sickening sound of a skull cracking and Ekalavya’s grip on Samba’s throat loosened. Krishna brought down the rock again and again on Ekalavya’s head until he collapsed to the ground. The glassy eyes of the Nishada looked up at his murderer. For a moment Krishna thought he saw a blazing third eye in the dark forehead. He blinked and the illusion disappeared. Perhaps the flickering torchlight had played tricks with his eyes. A breeze rushed through the damp dungeon and snuffed out the struggling flame, plunging them into complete darkness.

The rock slipped from Krishna’s hands and rolled away. His palm was sticky. Despite himself, he brought his hand up to his nose. It smelt of blood, of murder. ‘Oh God, what have I done?’ Krishna shivered. He had slain many people before, but they were his sworn enemies, evil men. For the first time in his life, he felt he had done something wrong. The laws of
karma
would not allow him to escape. He hoped his Yadava clan would not be destroyed in that lethal retribution.

“Is he dead?” Shakuni whispered.

Krishna had no answer. He did not even know whether the Gandharan was asking about Samba or the Nishada. He sat on the damp ground with his head buried in his hands, the heavy rock of guilt hammering at his heart.

“I will get a torch,” Krishna heard Shakuni say.

The Gandharan’s footsteps faded away. Krishna heard someone cough. Had the Nishada come back to life? He lifted his head but the dark contours of Ekalavya’s body did not move. Again, he heard the coughing. When his eyes had adjusted to the shadows, he saw his son moving. Krishna felt no joy in knowing that Samba was still alive. He was beyond any emotion. He struggled to find some justification for what he had done. He knew he would carry this guilt to his funeral pyre.

When Shakuni returned, Samba was standing. He should have waited for a few more seconds before passing the rock to Krishna, the Gandharan thought with a slight grimace. In the flickering light of the torch he held, he saw Samba’s eyes glittering with maniacal rage.

“Ekalavya is dead. You are safe, my son. We saved you, Samba,” Shakuni cried, backing away a few steps from the scene.

Krishna woke from his stupor. “What you have made me do?” he cried, looking at his son.

“One Nishada less is one trouble less,” retorted Samba.

A vein throbbed in Krishna’s neck as he looked at his son.

“You saved my life, but as a father it was your duty and your
dharma
to do so. Why are you so glum?” Samba said, backing out of the cell.

“You have made me do something I will always be ashamed of,” Krishna replied quietly.

“Just think of him as a Rakshasa you killed to save the world, or say that you gave him
moksha
and that he is now in Vaikunta, enjoying all the things that were denied to him in this life. Dhaumya will know how to spread the right rumours. Why worry? Let us get out of this hellhole and go back to Dwaraka. Life is too short to worry about a dead Nishada.”

Krishna’s eyes hardened but Samba’s lips curved into a derisive smile. He knew how to control his father.

Durjaya shouted from the other cell, “Friend, friend...have you forgotten our deal? Have you forgotten our pact that whoever gets free first, will release the other?”

“Oh, never! Samba always stands by his friends,” Samba said as he pushed past Krishna. He kicked Ekalavya’s body, picked up the bloody rock that had killed the Nishada, and rushed towards Durjaya’s cell.

“What are you doing?” Shakuni asked, trying to stop Samba, horrified at the thought of the consequences. Things had been going terribly wrong for the Gandharan in the last few moments. If Durjaya was freed on terms other than his, he knew he would never be able to control the crime lord.

Samba shoved Shakuni away. The torch rolled away from his hands and shadows danced in its haphazard light. Samba broke open the heavy lock on Durjaya’s cell with powerful blows. Durjaya grabbed the rock from Samba’s hands and rushed to the next cell, and the next, breaking the bolts and freeing his followers.

Krishna heard soldiers rushing in and the yells of men fighting a pitched battle. They appeared to be in the midst of a prison riot.

“Fool! What have you done?” Krishna hissed at Samba.

“Durjaya is to me what the Pandavas are to you. Is it not my
dharma
to help my friend when he is in distress?” Samba hissed back at his father. “Durjaya, throw this trash in some forest,” Samba shouted over the din, pointing to Ekalavya’s still body. Durjaya ran back to them with two of his men. One of them lifted Ekalavya onto his shoulder.

“A feast for the beasts of the forests,” gloated Samba, punching Ekalavya’s face.

Krishna was horrified by his son’s words and actions. Was this beast really the flesh of his flesh? Did his blood flow through his veins?

“All the guards are dead and we have lost twenty men. No one escaped to raise an alarm,” one of Durjaya’s men shouted.

“Good!” Durjaya hugged Samba and bowed to Krishna. Then he turned towards Shakuni who was trying to remain inconspicuous in a corner. “Mlecha, say your last prayers!” he yelled with glee.

Two dozen men advanced towards Shakuni. The Gandharan’s hand reached for his dagger; and he cursed when he did not find it. Of course, it had been taken from him at the entrance.

“Bloody foreigner! You betrayed me! Thirteen years I have rotted in this dark dungeon. That is what your friendship earned us. You will pay for it, my dear friend.” Durjaya walked towards Shakuni, terrible intent clear in his eyes.

“Durjaya, wait! I can explain. Don’t act in haste and regret it later.” Shakuni’s voice faltered. He stumbled backwards until his head hit an overhanging rock. “Don’t kill me.” Shakuni cursed himself for the fear he felt. He was going to die like a rat at the hands of vermin like Durjaya. He would die without having achieved his life’s ambition of destroying India. ‘Lords of heaven and earth, give me one more chance,’ he prayed fervently, every fibre of his being beseeching his Gods above for a reprieve.

“Kill you? Why would I kill you so quickly? You are coming with us,” said Durjaya, shaking him by his hair.

Men rushed to Shakuni, punching and kicking. The Gandharan knew it was useless to resist and so fell to the ground, feigning unconsciousness.

“Samba, we will meet again someday. For now, I am taking your dead Nishada and my old friend, Shakuni.” Durjaya and his men rushed out of the dungeon, carrying Ekalavya’s dead body and Shakuni’s inert form with them.

When Krishna and Samba emerged, stepping over the bodies of the slain men, it was already dark outside. They later learnt that Durjaya had murdered the stable guards and ridden away on the stolen horses. The hunt for the fugitives would prove futile. Durjaya and his gang would come to haunt the Yadavas later, but they did not know it at the time. Survival was the greatest
dharma,
Krishna tried to convince himself. He had to get away before Duryodhana learnt the truth. It was essential his loutish son marry Suyodhana’s daughter before he discovered what had happened. Once the marriage rites had been performed, Duryodhana would not do anything to harm his son-in-law. The life of a widow was the worst fate a father could inflict upon his daughter. However, for everything to go according to plan, Samba had to agree to the marriage.

“I found you lying unconscious in prison and brought you out. There was a riot... the guards had been already killed when I got there. That will be the story we will relate. We have not seen Shakuni or Ekalavya,” Krishna said, his mouth tasting of ashes.

“Whatever you say, Father. But I do not fancy that girl anymore. I had her and she holds no further charm for me. Nevertheless, if it makes you happy, I will marry her. This is a good kingdom; once I take care of that boy-lover brother of hers, it will be mine. I will keep your dirty secret safe, but never lord it over me again,” said Samba, a lopsided grin on his rugged face.

Krishna wished he had smashed his son’s head instead of the Nishada’s skull. It was too late now. Samba was his burden, the burden all fathers who sired wayward sons carried.
‘Karmaphala,
the fruits of
karma,’
he sighed, as he dragged himself towards the palace where Duryodhana waited.

*****

39
   
S
OLITARY
S
OUL

“SWAMI, SWAMI!” THE PANICKED VOICE
woke Vidhura from a disturbed sleep. He reached out to touch his wife’s forehead. It was burning hot. She looked even more frail than she had the previous day, but somehow she had survived another night. God be praised for His mercy.

“Swami!” the voice grew frantic.

Vidhura rose from his bed, opened the rickety door, and peered out.

Jara and his dog stood outside.

“Swami, come with me.” Jara began running off without waiting for Vidhura’s reply.

Vidhura followed as fast as his rheumatic legs would carry him. They reached a clearing where some tribals stood around something lying on the ground. The smell of putrefying flesh was like a physical blow. Vidhura willed himself to look. It bore little resemblance to a man, much less a warrior. Jara sat nearby, tears running down his face. The dog sniffed at the remains of the body, but Jara pulled the animal back. The man had been dead for a long time. Flies buzzed over the bloated face. There were open wounds all over the sagging black skin. Wild beasts had been there before them.

Fighting the bile that rose to his throat, Vidhura bent to look closer. Where has he seen this man? Then it struck him like a thunderbolt. Ekalavya! Memories of the proud boy who had sat in his home years before, refusing a second serving of food, came rushing to his mind.

“I loved him like my brother. He
was
my brother, Swami.” Jara cried. “But everything is
Maya;
Krishna is testing us. No one ever dies, Swami. The soul is immortal. Krishna knows everything. He sees everything. He is compassionate. He would never let this happen without a reason. We are merely fools who do not understand, Swami. But when I look at my brother’s face, I forget Krishna’s divine teachings. I do not deserve to be a Krishna
bhakta,
Swami.”