AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) (6 page)

Suddenly, Shakuni’s hard eyes caught sight of a stranger talking to Jayadratha. He looked travel worn and agitated. What was he saying to the King of Sindh? When the man turned, his gaze froze on Shakuni’s face and his jaw dropped. Jayadratha followed his companion’s gaze and frowned. Shakuni saw Aswathama join Jayadratha and they all stood staring at him. Something was wrong.

*****

2
   
E
SCAPE

SHAKUNI’S HEART POUNDED LIKE THAT
of a cornered beast. He had to get to Gandhara quickly. He needed a horse. He hurried towards the stables, weaving through the men grouped outside the Sabha discussing the day’s events. He could hear someone following him and his walk became a trot. He could sense danger behind him but did not dare to look back as he hurried to the stables.

The smell of horse dung and urine assaulted his senses. The man in charge of the royal stables was sitting with his head hung, as if in shame, his hands supporting his forehead. Worry creased the face already lined by the sun. In the slanting afternoon light the tired eyes glistened with tears but Athiratha did not move even when Shakuni reached him and impatiently shook his shoulder. The charioteer sprang up with a start, shocked that a noble had touched him. When he saw who it was, Athiratha relaxed.

“What has happened to you?” Shakuni asked Karna’s father.

“My son died today, Swami. What is the use of education and learning if you cannot use them? How will I tell his mother how her Karna behaved today? How could he behave like that to a woman? He was never my son... and never will be.”

As Athiratha rambled on about his son’s fall from grace, Shakuni’s eyes scanned the area for danger. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Aswathama running towards them. “Athiratha, get me a horse quickly.” Shakuni threw his gold bracelet to the amazed charioteer.

Athiratha caught it by reflex and then looked down at it as if he was holding a live snake in his hand. “Swami, are you joking with me? I have many faults but I have never stooped to taking bribes. I have lived an honest life...”

“Athiratha, hurry!” Shakuni smashed both his fists on the stable wall.

Karna’s father flinched at the uncharacteristic display of anger by this usually cool and controlled foreigner. “You are the Queen’s brother, Swami. Please take whichever horse you wish,” Athiratha said in a flat tone.

Aswathama shouted at Shakuni to stop. He was so close. Shakuni jumped into the saddle of the nearest horse as Aswathama leapt over the fence and lurched at Shakuni, making a grab for the reins. Shakuni kicked off his hands as the horse jumped the gate and shot forward. Aswathama ran after him for a few yards, coughing in the cloud of dust thrown up by the galloping horse.

“Where was he going?” Aswathama asked Athiratha, panting.

“I don’t talk to scoundrels who misbehave with women.” Athiratha slammed the stable door shut in Aswathama’s face.

The Brahmin kicked the stable door with all the force he could muster, battering it with both fists, but the door remained closed. Defeated, he turned and shook his fist at Shakuni, now a black dot on the horizon.

***

The two guards bowed and backed out silently. They knew when to leave the Grand Regent alone. They closed the massive doors and stood outside, their spears crossed over the door to prevent anyone entering the chamber.

Bhishma wanted to be alone. The lone, six foot oil lamp that stood in the corner, threw gigantic shadows, making the huge chairs, upholstered diwans and decorated pillars look like crouching beasts. Bhishma paced the room, shaking his head forlornly. However hard he tried, the image of a pleading Draupadi refused to leave his mind. Had he lowered the prestige of the Kurus? Why had he not put a stop to the shame? He could have ordered it done and even arrested the two fools who were gambling with what did not belong to them. The country belonged to him, Devavrata Gangadatta Bhishma. Dhritarashtra and his sons merely enjoyed what he had gifted them.

When had the Kshatriyas of the Kuru clan started thinking partially? A woman was shamed and it did not matter
who
had shamed her. He should have punished the culprits. Perhaps Suyodhana had been justified in doing what he had done. The Pandavas were his grand-nephews too, but there was a difference. Unlike Suyodhana, they did not have the blue blood of the Kurus flowing in their veins. The shame of five Pandava brothers sharing the same woman still rankled. He had never understood it. Years of forced bachelorhood and self-willed celibacy had made him bitter, though he was always a thorough gentleman in his demeanour. No one showed more respect to women in public, no one was more decorous in his courtesies nor so polite in his speech than him. In public, he always supported women taking an active role in the administration of the country.

But in his heart he despised all women, especially women like Kunti and Gandhari, who were not content to live in the
antapura
and played politics. His heart had hardened after what Kunti and Gandhari’s internal strife and intrigues had done to the country. He still rued the day he had permitted them to attend the Sabha. Gandhari had even had the audacity to chide the King today. That it had taken a woman to speak the words he should have uttered, made him all the more bitter. Dhritarashtra had surprised him with his generosity, by giving back all that Yudhishtra had lost. Had not the young fool fallen for Shakuni’s tricks, the entire world would have now been praising the greatness of the blind King – a King who had taken the right decision when a great man like Bhishma remained silent, a King who had the grace to ask for forgiveness of a woman who had been wronged. Bhishma had never known Dhritarashtra to act so decisively and that too, angered him. He was losing his grip on the King. Things were getting out of his control. Bhishma hated Draupadi for having made him into a man who did not do the right thing when it mattered. He was terrified that history would stand in judgement because of his silence. That woman had no business sharing five men.

With a shock he realised he was thinking like the Suta, that Draupadi was immoral because she had five husbands. He could bear anything but the laughter of the Suta. How dare Karna come to his palace and mock his granddaughter-in-law? In his rage, Bhishma forgot that Karna was not the reason why his beloved Suyodhana had behaved like a street ruffian. ‘Uncultured boor, son of a charioteer,’ he fumed.

Suddenly, Bhishma remembered something and rushed to his table. He ruffled through various messages and threw down the scrolls of birch and palm leaves after a quick glance at each. Where was that message? When he had received the message from the Southern Confederate that morning, he had not given it much thought. It was written in the bombastic language typical to the South, with couched threats hidden in oblique praise. He had dismissed the usual banter about the South invading Hastinapura and not given a second thought to their demand to hand over Karna. He had not even thought it worth discussing in the Sabha. Now, an idea started forming in his mind. He could do something that would save his face. He would sacrifice the Suta and become a hero again. Bhishma was afraid that one day the rivalry between his grand-nephews would flare up to destroy his beloved country. And that Suta upstart was a danger to both sides.

For a moment, Karna’s handsome face came to mind; the Suta who had had the courage to challenge the Kshatriyas. A grudging respect for the underdog who has fought his way up made Bhishma hesitate in his decision. Then he slammed the message on the table and drew to his full height. He had to do it for the sake of the country. The thought gave him courage and helped him push away considerations of fairness. The Suta had to be finished. Without Karna, he could control Suyodhana and remain kingmaker. No, he was not hungry for power; Bhishma hastily corrected the insidious thought. His life was a sacrifice – for his father in his youth, for his nephews in his middle age, and for his grand-nephews in the twilight of his life; a life lived for others. He smiled at the thought, pleased with himself.

Bhishma called the guards and asked for Senanayak Mahaveera. Without turning to look at the bewildered Captain, he said in a voice from which all emotion had been banished, “Arrest the King of Anga and hand him over to the Southern Confederate.”

As the Captain bowed and went out, the guards closed the door, leaving the Grand Regent to his solitary state.

*****

3
   
A
RREST

SUYODHANA WAS STARTLED TO SEE
Aswathama and Jayadratha emerge from the darkness. He looked at them in surprise as they brushed past him and entered Shakuni’s chamber. The bells over the door jangled in protest. A moth whizzed past and dived into a flaming torch, filling the air with an acerbic odour.

“Shakuni has escaped,” Aswathama said, challenging Suyodhana to contradict him.

“He may have gone for a walk,” Suyodhana suggested, avoiding looking at the infuriated Brahmin.

“A long walk indeed! He may have even got halfway to Gandhara by now,” retorted Aswathama.

The mouldy smell of the room mixed with the distinctive perfume Shakuni always wore. Suyodhana pulled the burning torch from the wall. Night withdrew wherever the circle of light touched it and rushed back as soon as it was turned away. Insects scurried to hide in the crevices of the walls.

“No! No!” exclaimed Suyodhana, his voice hoarse with repressed anger and denial. “Uncle Shakuni...” His hands shook, making the circle of light vibrate. The curtains moved restlessly in the breeze and shadows danced around the room.

Aswathama put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “He betrayed and tricked us.”

Suyodhana knocked off his friend’s hand and began rummaging in the cupboards. He overturned the bed, emptied the drawers and then smashed them shut. If he did not do something he would go crazy. Beads of sweat formed on his creased forehead.

Jayadratha stood at the window, watching. He had been surprised by Suyodhana’s behaviour today. He had made a bad bargain in marrying Sushala, Suyodhana’s sister. He had expected to grow his kingdom with the help of the imperial Hastinapura army and had counted on Suyodhana to support his expansion plans. The new city of Dwaraka and the riches of Krishna’s land were inviting. But Suyodhana was too preoccupied with the rivalry with his cousins to pay attention to his brother-in-law. Nor did Sushala make things easier for Jayadratha with her constant comparisons of him to her brother. They had a son now, whom Sushala desired to raise to be like Suyodhana. He could hardly wait to tell her how her high-minded, perfect, Kshatriya brother had behaved in the Sabha today. And the way Suyodhana pampered a low-caste like Karna made his blood boil with rage. He spat out a stream of red betel nut juice, watching it clear the veranda and land in the flowerbed below. There was a pale moon playing hide-and-seek with the clouds and the palace was eerily still. In the distance he could hear the sound of marching feet and a frown creased his forehead.

“Remember this?” Aswathama held up something in one hand. Suyodhana did not want to look. It would make everything final. He wiped his forehead, a lump forming in his throat. Aswathama moved towards the light and held out a white shawl. It was the same one which had almost indicted him in Bhima’s murder trial years before.

The torch fell from Suyodhana’s hand and lay smoking at his feet, making their eyes sting. “I did a despicable thing today.” Suyodhana’s voice and body shook with emotion. “How will I face Bhanumati or my mother? How will I face the people of my country?”

“Shakuni made us do it, we were stupid,” Jayadratha snapped, secretly enjoying Suyodhana’s predicament. He wanted to see his wife’s face when he narrated the incident to her. Her noble brother and his great acts. Jayadratha wanted to laugh.

Aswathama was digging through the Gandharan Prince’s possessions. “Look at this...and this...and this...” He threw down some palm leaves. They lay on the floor mocking Suyodhana’s naivety. “Do you understand what they are? Documents about the arms smuggled into our country, cryptic replies from Durjaya. Everything is falling into place. Ask Jayadratha! Ask him what his spy told him. Evil Mlecha!”