AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) (33 page)

“Get me a shovel,” Vidhura said curtly to the men standing around. He was not in a position to give Ekalavya a proper funeral. Burning his body might attract someone’s attention. Already these tribals had seen it. He had to extract a promise from them that they would keep quiet. One day or the other the truth would come out, but he would delay it as long as possible. The country could not afford a war, not when people were dying from the drought.

The men returned with some rusty implements and they began to dig. The ground was rock hard and it took them a long time to make a pit deep enough to bury the Nishada who had once dreamt of challenging Arjuna. If they had fought on equal terms, who would have won, wondered Vidhura. Could a self-taught Nishada, who lacked a thumb, have possibly defeated the greatest archer in Bharatavarsha? It did not matter now. The Nishada was dead. He had deserved much more in life. Even in death, he was denied the dignity he merited. Had he been born in some other country, far from this holy land, bards would have sung of his heroic deeds for thousands of years.

“Do not speak about this to anyone,” Vidhura called out as Jara began to walk away, his shoulders bent, his dog trotting behind.

“I will not, Swami. Life and death are like day and night, a part of nature. His soul is immortal. It will have reached Vaikunta, at the feet of Lord Vishnu. I cry because I am sad and ignorant. May Krishna give me wisdom.”

The men who had found Ekalavya soon dispersed. Vidhura stood alone in the forest for a long time. Around him, gnarled trees begged the sky for water. Bird cries were now just faded memories. The sun glowed like a fireball, sucking life out of the earth. When his shadow grew long, Vidhura walked back to his hut, wiping the sweat from his body with his shabby
angavastra.

Life had not been easy for Vidhura. His wife had been sick for a long time. What he earned by teaching a few students was hardly enough to keep his family from starving. In the initial days he had taught students of all castes and found some happiness in passing on what he knew. But soon the students had dropped out, one by one. Except for the
brahmacharis
Sage Vyasa sent his way occasionally, there was no one willing to learn the Vedas from a Shudra. The upper castes detested him and the lower castes found no value in learning what he had to offer. His sons grew up wild and ignorant. They even shared the same woman, emulating the five Pandava brothers who had married Draupadi. Vidhura’s heart ached for his sons.

When he opened the reed door of his hut, Vidhura saw he was now alone in the world. Parshavi looked serene in death. Vidhura sat on the mud floor looking at her still beautiful face. He had failed her as a husband. He had not even been there when she left him forever. He had gone to bury a Nishada, as though it was more important than bidding farewell to the woman who had suffered with him for twenty-five long years. He wanted to say many things to her, apologize for everything and nothing, but the words had lost all sense for her, and for him. The hut seemed destitute without her, just like his life. Vidhura wept.

*****

40
   
R
ANSOM

“IS THIS A BEGGAR’S RANSOM?”
Durjaya asked and his companions roared with laughter. Moving towards the boy, he lifted the stubborn chin with the tip of his dagger. “Thirteen years in a dark dungeon infested by rats and scorpions is what I got for trusting your father,” Durjaya spat out.

Swallowing his shame, Uluka fell at Durjaya’s feet. Shakuni averted his eyes. His son, the scion of Gandhara, falling at the feet of a worthless criminal! ‘Father, forgive me, but it is all for the cause. I will make India pay tenfold and its soil will be soaked in blood,’ he vowed silently as he watched his son abase himself.

“Sir, have mercy. We have stripped our places of worship, emptied our treasury, begged each household in Gandhara for gold. We have pawned all our assets, including our palace, to the merchant Yuyutsu – all for my father’s life.”

His son was begging, kneeling at the criminal’s feet. It was almost more than Shakuni could bear. Perhaps it would be better to die and spare Gandhara this shame. But that was the coward’s way. His country was more important than his pride.

“Lick my feet,” Durjaya ordered.

There was a moment’s hushed silence and then more howling laughter. Uluka licked Durjaya’s feet. Shakuni’s fingers dug into his thighs. Someone cut the ropes that bound him and Durjaya yanked Uluka up from the floor.

“Mlecha, I am sparing your life for now. The Crown Prince of Gandhara has licked my feet for your life.” The laughter was like molten lead poured into Shakuni’s ears. Durjaya’s hand tightened around Shakuni’s throat. “I can reach deep into your country, Mlecha. Wag your tail again and you won’t even know what hit you.” Durjaya pushed Shakuni away disdainfully.

Durjaya’s men shoved the treasure into sacks. Gandhara’s treasures. When they had taken the last coin from the ground, someone kicked Shakuni in the face. Soon others were doing the same. Shakuni coiled into a foetal position. He was determined not to give them the pleasure of hearing him cry in pain.

Like a storm passing, Shakuni’s tormentors grew tired of the sport and went away. He steadied himself, supported by his son. Uluka half-carried, half-dragged his father away. Without his son, he would have slipped on his own blood. A pariah kite was circling in the gloomy sky outside. Shakuni stared at it for a long time and found his strength creeping back. “How did you raise so much money?”

“I emptied the treasury, pawned the palace to Yuyutsu, and when that was not enough, begged the people.”

“Did you use force to collect the ransom?” Shakuni asked. The kite’s circles were becoming tighter.

“Not really. Most of our countrymen love you more than I ever could.” His son’s voice betrayed an odd sense of pride.

Shakuni suppressed the sob that threatened to break his heart. He could not fail his people’s trust. The kite circled in the air.

“Father,” his son’s hand was gentle on his shoulders, “come home.”

“What would you have done if Durjaya had killed me?”

“I would have led the Gandhara army to Hastinapura to capture and strangle him to death.”

Shakuni’s eyes blurred with tears. “Son, I am doing the same thing for my massacred father and brothers. This is my
dharma.
When you get home, tell our people that no King ever loved his people as much as Shakuni has. Beg their pardon for the wrongs I have done them.”

Shakuni limped away. Any more words and he would have cried like a child. He saw the kite dive into the forest like an arrow. It must have found its prey. He wiped the blood from his lips. He should have said a proper goodbye to his son, embraced him one last time. He was not sure he would see Uluka again. The time had come for a final roll of the dice.

*****

41
   
V
IRATA

SHAKUNI TOOK A DEEP BREATH
before entering his nephew’s chambers.

“Where have you been?” Suyodhana asked with a trace of irritation.

Karna and Aswathama looked at each other.

Shakuni bowed low. Should he tell Suyodhana about Ekalavya’s death now or later? It would be better to save it for later, when the impact would be greater. “I had some urgent business in Gandhara. The Yavanas dared to attack again. I heard about the prison riots. Have you caught Durjaya? I am sorry to have missed Lakshmana’s wedding. Your plan to blow the Pandavas’ cover and avoid a costly war is certainly a clever one, Suyodhana.” Shakuni smiled thinly at his nephew.

“We have no time to worry about Durjaya now. Our soldiers are out hunting for the Pandavas but there are only 15 days left for the end of their exile. How are we to entice them out of hiding?” Sushasana asked.

“Ah, Sushasana, I didn’t even see you sitting in that dark corner. Think, my nephew, what would force them to leave Virata? What is their greatest strength? Think how we can convert it into their greatest weakness,” responded his uncle.

“They claim they are the sons of Gods,” suggested Sushasana.

“Their pride in their skill with arms?” Aswathama asked.

Shakuni kept pulling at his salt and pepper beard. Finally, when there were no more ideas forthcoming, he said, “Suyodhana, their greatest strength is the support they enjoy from the orthodox. Attack anything that is considered holy by the priests, and we can force Yudhishtra to come out and fight.”

“Are you going to tell us or not?” Sushasana asked impatiently. He was tired of his uncle talking in riddles.

“Patience is a virtue you should practise more, nephew. The Virata King has thousands of cows. Steal them and you will have all the priests screaming for war. To them, a cow’s life is more precious than that of a man. The Pandavas would have to fight to protect the cows.” Shakuni sat back and waited for their reaction.

“Tchaw! The Pandavas did not even fight for their wife; do you think they will fight for a few cows?” Suyodhana said dismissively.

“Nephew, to such people, a wife’s honour can be pawned but a cow’s life cannot be compromised. The easiest way to conquer Bharatavarsha is to march a few cows before the invading army.”

“That is not an honourable way,” Karna said coldly.

“Fine then, go ahead and declare war on Virata. The Pandavas would sneak away like rats while you fought a useless war with a vassal state. Remember, you have just two weeks to blow their cover. Fail and they will come back to claim their share of the kingdom. Do you really want that?” Shakuni studied Suyodhana’s face.

“Let them come. I am waiting to fight Arjuna,” Karna replied.

“A war would be devastating. The rains have failed and the granaries are empty. Already half the country’s assets have been pawned to Yuyutsu. I do not know how we will ever get that merchant off our backs. But we cannot have him joining the Pandavas with his enormous wealth and private army. No, my uncle is right. In this way, we avoid a disastrous war. Let us try to lure the Pandavas out of hiding,” Suyodhana said thoughtfully, ignoring Karna and Aswathama’s protests.

While Suyodhana and his friends debated the details, Shakuni did some mental arithmetic. Perfect! If he played the game with finesse, he could make both parties think they were right. That would be some war, where both parties fought for
dharma
– a
dharmayudha
– a holy and righteous war which any prophet would approve. What was it that Suyodhana had said about Yuyutsu? That could be something to explore. Also, the Southern Confederate had to be dragged in somehow and the drought and famine conditions exploited. Things were certainly getting interesting.

***

“There he is!” Suyodhana exclaimed, unable to conceal his delight. He had brought a small force with him to Virata and in the dead of the night, they had overpowered the guards at the royal barns and driven out all the cows. By morning, Suyodhana’s spies had spread the rumour that his army was going to feast on beef. That was sure to provoke the conservatives who valued cows over men. If the Pandavas were hiding in Virata, Yudhishtra would be forced to fight to save the cows if he wanted to retain the support of the Priests. They could murder the entire population of Khandivaprastha and still be called righteous, but they would be damned if they let a single cow die! The idea was not to fight a full-fledged battle but to smoke out the Pandavas if they were hiding in the kingdom. Shakuni’s idea was perfect in its simplicity. Suyodhana made a mental note to thank his uncle for avoiding a major war that would have ruined Bharatavarsha.

The man, dressed as a woman, who was leading the Virata army could be none other than Arjuna. Suyodhana looked back at his commanders and shouted, “We have found them! Another thirteen years of exile for the Pandavas.”

Suyodhana was surprised to see that neither Bhishma nor Drona shared his joy. Which side were they on? He had avoided a major conflict by finding Pandavas in the nick of time, just twelve days before their period of exile ended.

“From this distance we cannot be sure whether it is Arjuna or not. It appears that their commander is a woman. We have to categorically prove it is the Pandavas,” Bhishma said, shielding his eyes from the blazing sun. Behind the Kaurava army, the stolen cows mooed piteously.