AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) (5 page)

But Yudhishtra shook his head. He was a gambler who longed to win the throne of Hastinapura, but he would not go back on his word. “My brothers and my wife will not deny that, as eldest, I have the right to decide for us all. I committed no
adharma,
nor do I question destiny. If it is my destiny to suffer at the hands of my cousin’s injustice, I shall do so with dignity, as will my brothers and wife.” Yudhishtra’s voice was quiet but firm. An animal cry rose from Bhima’s throat. Draupadi’s shoulders drooped in despair.

“Duryodhana, you are trapping my brother with vile words and low tricks. Come and fight me like a man,” Bhima shouted.

“Loud words, Bhima,” Shakuni intervened. “As loud as an empty drum and as hollow. Masters do not fight slaves. Ask your brother.”

“I beg the forgiveness of the Sabha for my brother’s outburst,” Yudhishtra said, ignoring the burning condemnation in Bhima’s eyes.

There was a stir at the door and Gandhari stormed into the Sabha with Subhadra and Bhanumati hurrying behind her. The Queen found her way to Suyodhana and touched his face to ensure it was indeed her eldest son. He attempted to rise but before he could do so, his mother slapped him hard across his astonished face, leaving her palm print emblazoned on his cheek.

There was a collective gasp in the Sabha and then utter silence. Bhanumati rushed to Draupadi, trying to cover her, but she pushed her back angrily.

Turning to where Sushasana lay in a drunken stupor, Draupadi kicked him with her bare foot. He did not stir. Clutching her dishevelled hair, she said in a voice that shook with emotion, “Each one of you hear me now...I will not tie my hair, touched by this swine at my feet, until my husbands are men enough to kill him. Then I will wash my hair with the blood of those four evil men – Duryodhana, Dushasana, Karna and Jayadratha.”

Bhima took a step forward. “I will kill them for you, Draupadi.” She snorted and flicked her hands as if he was an annoying fly.

“I am ashamed.” Gandhari’s voice silenced the Sabha which had begun to hum with voices. “Where were the Acharyas and Gurus when a woman was being humiliated in our own Sabha?”

Draupadi glared at the courtiers, refusing to cry, refusing to be pitied. She was a Princess; she would not bow her head. She had done no wrong. The roomful of warriors, nobles, courtiers and high-caste clergy, stood with their heads bent. The silence damned them all. The Grand Regent sat as if carved from stone.

Gandhari turned towards her sightless husband. “Perhaps arrogance and pride made them blind, but you, my Lord, our King? Draupadi is but a woman. She begged for your mercy. Why were you silent?”

Vidhura walked up to the Queen and guided her to a chair beside Dhritarashtra. When she touched his arm, the King’s eyes shone with unshed tears. There were no words. He had done an ignoble thing. He had tarnished the crown he wore.

A haunting howl rose from the palace gardens. The courtiers looked at each other, some in fear, many in confusion. Gandhari turned to her husband. “Prabhu, our son has shamed us by his ignoble actions. Do you not hear the ill omens? Jackals have dared come near the palace in broad daylight. They are the harbingers of a dark future. I see war and death. The Kuru dynasty is cursed with the tears of its women, and now we have added Draupadi’s name to that inglorious list. My Lord, I know you will be just and follow
dharma.”

The King felt bitter and angry at his Queen’s words. His son had won the game of dice fair and square. Suyodhana had even offered them their kingdom back. All his brother’s high-principled son had to do was admit he had acted against
dharma
in pledging his wife and brothers; but he refused to do so. No one had forced him into the game. And now he, Dhritarashtra, was being blamed for permitting it to happen in the Sabha. Where had the priests, who were ever eager with unwanted advice, gone? Everyone remained silent and he was to take the blame. Even his son was acting mighty and generous after shaming him and making him look a fool – a blind, good-for-nothing fool. No, the Dhritarashtra who had fought elephants bare-handed and could crush rocks with his palms, was second to none when it came to nobility and generosity. He was the greatest Kshatriya and would be generous to the sons of his cursed brother, Pandu, who had taken the throne citing his blindness. Dhritarashtra would shame his dead brother’s soul with his generosity and greatness.

The murmuring which had begun in the hall subsided as the King stood up and said in a voice hoarse with emotion, “Something has taken place here which should never have happened. Draupadi, my daughter, no words of remorse can undo what was done to you. Yet I ask you to find it in your heart to forgive us all.”

Suyodhana sat stunned by the turn of events. He was proud of the ethical stand he had always taken, often going against the established norms. No longer could he claim the moral high ground. He had committed a grave error of judgment. But as he listened to his father, he felt anger stir within him like a hooded cobra.

“Daughter, you may ask me for three boons and as King of the Bharata clan, I promise to bestow whatever you seek. Ask. Allow a blind man to try and right the wrong that has been done to you.”

Draupadi looked up in surprise when she heard the King’s words. Shakuni’s fingers wrapped around the dice, his knuckles turning white. His sister had spoilt everything. Now that fool Dhritarashtra would act high and mighty and undo the good work he had done. But when he looked at Suyodhana’s stern face, his smile returned. He could work this out. He would wait.

“Oh King, the greatest of all Kurus!” Draupadi exclaimed with folded hands. Dhritarashtra’s lips broke into a satisfied smile. “Free my husbands from your son’s slavery.”

“Daughter, your wish is granted,” Dhritarashtra said. There were murmurs of approval from the Sabha. They would be singing his praises in the streets of Hastinapura. His fame would travel far and wide and history would judge him as the greatest of all Kings.

“Restore my husbands’ kingdom and all that we have lost,” Draupadi said, eyeing her husband with contempt. Yudhishtra looked up and gazed at his wife in amazement.

“I restore to the Pandavas all they lost in the game. I also give to my nephew, Yudhishtra, half my kingdom, to rule independently.”

Murmurs of approbation rose on all sides as Dhritarashtra sat down. Yudhishtra’s face lightened. Suyodhana’s eyes burned with fury. How could his father give back Indraprastha to the Pandavas? The kingdom, the wealth, the power, it was all his by right. How could some bastards take it away?

“The Pandavas receive their kingdom from the hands of a woman and they dare to call themselves Kshatriyas? Devi Draupadi, you are more than equal to all five of them put together,” Karna said, his eyes mocking the men who had always insulted him for his caste.

Arjuna sprang up in a fury. “Suta! I am no longer a slave. Come forward and fight me like a man.”

“Why would I fight you, Arjuna? If you lose, you will go to your wife, who will beg the King to rescue you.”

Yudhishtra restrained Arjuna, holding onto his wrist. Before things could get uglier, Bhishma rose and all eyes turned to him. “The Sabha is closed. Let arrangements be made for King Yudhishtra to travel to Indraprastha.”

Shakuni panicked. He had been on the verge of success when his sister arrived and destroyed everything. Something needed to be done quickly. Wiping all doubt from his face, he moved to Yudhishtra, who was picking up his discarded clothing. “Your Highness, why be indebted to Suyodhana’s charity and a woman’s mercy like this? Would you care to try one more throw for a chance to win back everything, like a true Kshatriya?”

“Shakuni, I know what you are up to...” Gandhari cried when she heard her brother’s words.

“Sister, this is the accepted protocol between dice players,” answered Shakuni suavely, his customary smile back on his face. “It is my duty to give my opponent a fair chance to win back his losses. It is the code of the dice. Of course, if the King of Indraprastha does not care to take up the challenge, that is another matter.”

“I will play.” Yudhishtra once again climbed onto the dais, still laid with the dicing cloth. Cupping his palms, he accepted the dice Shakuni held out to him.

“Some people never learn,” the courtiers whispered to each other.

“What is the wager, Your Highness?” Shakuni asked with elaborate courtesy.

Before Yudhishtra could answer, the Grand Regent stood up. There was complete silence. “The Princes Suyodhana and Yudhishtra have both chosen to prove before this assembly that neither has attained the maturity or wisdom to rule a country. A ruler is but the custodian of the land he rules, he does not own it. Similarly, a husband is an equal partner in the marital relationship; he does not own his wife. It remains their shame and our sorrow, that these noble Princes of the Kuru clan have forgotten the tenets which mark civilized men.” Lord Bhishma paused, his eyes fixed not on the assembly but the glistening river beyond the windows. The Sabha waited.

“Since my grand-nephews have decided to gamble again, despite what has happened today, I will decide the wager. The person who loses will surrender his kingdom to the winner and face banishment to the forest for twelve years. In the thirteenth year of exile, the loser will remain incognito. Should the winner find him during that period, the loser will repeat the cycle of twelve years in the forest and one year in hiding.”

There was appalled silence in the Sabha. Twelve years and another in hiding, hunted by one’s foes? Was it even possible to win free?

“I agree to the terms,” Yudhishtra said immediately.

Gasps of disbelief sounded through the assembly but the Pandava Prince merely looked straight at the Grand Regent, calm and assured. He was sure he would win this time. In one throw he would regain Hastinapura and banish Duryodhana and his evil cronies forever.

Draupadi stood frozen. What was Yudhishtra doing? Could he not see her anguish? Had she not suffered enough? Bhima turned to walk out, telling Arjuna to inform him when it was time to go into exile. Arjuna held on to his arm, begging him to stay.

Gripped by gambling fever and overcome by his public humiliation, Yudhishtra’s years of intellectual training deserted him. Touching his lucky amulet, he mumbled, “This time the charm will protect me. I have always followed
dharma. Dharma
will protect me from evil. Trust me, my brothers, our luck will turn. We will all witness the auspicious event of Duryodhana losing everything.”

Shakuni merely smiled and threw the dice. Once again the bones rolled. A lucky talisman, crafted by a superstitious country clashed with the skill of a master strategist. “Aha! I win.” Shakuni said, raising one hand in victory.

Yudhishtra sat in shocked silence. He had lost everything. Again. A crow cawed from the garden, seeming to mock him. The crow was considered to be the vehicle of Shaneeswara; the God of Misfortune was calling him. It was his destiny to bear this with a calm mind. He felt bitter thinking of the countless hours he had spent in prayer, in fasting, for the hours spent in studying the scriptures. In the moment it mattered, the Gods had forsaken him.
Dharmo rakshithi rakshitaha (Dharma
will protect he who protects
dharma)
– his Guru’s words echoed in his ears. He could feel the heat of Draupadi’s accusation and contempt searing his skin; he could hear Bhima’s anger in his laboured breathing. He, son of
dharma,
had lost everything to a foreigner. The Suta was laughing at him; men were ogling his wife; and his brothers were standing with heads bowed. ‘Lords of heaven, why are you punishing me like this?’

After a few moments of utter disbelief, Yudhishtra stood up and shook out the folds of his
dhoti
– the only possession left to him. Bhima, almost blue with rage, shouted across the Sabha that once they returned he would personally rip apart Duryodhana and his brothers with his bare hands.

Arjuna ignored all the others and pointed a finger at Karna. “Suta, you have won for now, but do not doubt that we will meet in battle, when we will finish this.”

Karna bowed low. “Arjuna, rest assured I will be waiting for you.”

At the massive doors of the Sabha, which towered over him like a tomb, Yudhishtra hesitated for a moment. He waited with the forlorn hope that Bhishma would call him back, or perhaps the King would ask Draupadi to seek the third boon he had promised, or that Guru Drona would speak. He heard Draupadi’s voice, as cold as the ice on the Himalayas, hiss in his ear, “Walk!” With bent head, Yudhishtra walked into the afternoon sun. The guards standing on either side remained upright. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, sounding like frenzied war drums.

Draupadi followed her husbands out of the Sabha, wrapped only in her sari, her head held proudly erect, her hair flying wildly in the playful breeze. She glared at Duryodhana and Karna as she passed them. The hatred burning in those fiery black eyes sent a chill down their spines.

Shakuni breathed a sigh of relief. The Sabha had ended but the courtiers refused to disperse. They clustered in groups and discussed the rights and wrongs of what had happened. Shakuni looked at them with disdain. It had not gone as perfectly as he had planned, but nevertheless it was a victory, considering everything. It had been touch and go with Gandhari interfering and making a mess of his plans. Fortunately, the fool Yudhishtra fell into the trap he had set. He could still hear the faint sounds of the procession accompanying the Pandavas out of the city. Gandhari was speaking to Suyodhana, but Shakuni did not want to stand and listen to his sister’s harsh words. Lazily, he walked through the massive archway that separated the Sabha from the wide veranda which ran around the hall. He paused to admire the intricate carvings on the ceiling. Though it was late afternoon, the air was hot and dust swirled outside the fort, creating a haze all around.

Effeminate Indians! Which husband sat and watched someone strip his wife? Which husband wagered his wife in dice? In his country, men died to protect the honour of women. His fellow Gandharans would never believe such things could happen. The audacity of these Indians to call themselves the greatest culture in the world! It was time to get out, time to visit the motherland. He needed to take care of a few things and then he would go back to Gandhara. It would be the start of winter there and all would be painted white – the colour of purity, of God – unlike the dust and grime of India.