AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) (43 page)

53
   
L
OVE
R
ETURNS

WHEN HIS SON HAD TOLD HIM SUBHADRA
would be waiting near the temple, Suyodhana had convinced himself he would not go. Bhanu had cried herself to sleep, grieving for her son. He had held her so that he would not be tempted when the time came. He could not remember when he had last hugged Bhanu that way. His wife purred in her sleep, content with his touch. It almost broke his heart. Yet, at the appointed time, he stood near the temple, the Ganga flowing like dark ink in the background.

“I did not think you would come,” she said.

Her voice was just the same as all those years ago, when they had been teenagers lost in love. The breeze ruffled her hair and he wished he could tuck the strands back behind her ears as he used to do. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest.

“Thank you for coming, Suyo. I did not think Lakshmana Kumara would tell you. He is a sweet boy,” Subhadra said, her diamond nose stud glittering in the moonlight. “Do you still think of me?”

Thank God, she could not see his face. ‘What answer do you want from me, Subhadra? Would it make you happy if I told you the truth, that I have ached for you every moment?’ Suyodhana turned away. “Why do you care?” That was not what he had meant to say, a simple no or nothing at all would have been better.

“How is Arjuna?” Suyodhana asked. It was a foolish question and an awkward one. She did not answer but a smile played on her lips. Those full red lips were just the same too, and the memory of their taste came flooding back to him. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to kiss them once again. Suyodhana shook his head and looked up at the night sky.

“It is about Abhimanyu.”

“I hope he is looking after Valsala. Oh I forgot, he has married again hasn’t he? How is Uttara doing?”

“Suyo, you are still angry about what my boy did to your son?”

‘No, Subhadra, I am still mad at what you did to me years ago.’ It was almost more than he could bear to be alone with her, so near that he could smell the fragrance of her hair.

“My son is so full of vigour that I sometimes fear for his life. He still loves Valsala, but he is madly in love with Uttara now.”

“No doubt he will marry scores of women. He has a long way to go.”

“He is such a handsome boy,” Subhadra said and then frowned. “I know what you have left unsaid, Suyo – like father, like son. If you think I am unhappy I married Arjuna, you are mistaken. I do not care how many wives he has, he still loves me the most.”

“Your vehemence convinces me. My prayers are always with you.”

“Sarcasm does not suit you, Suyo. You are still in love with me.” Subhadra laughed.

Her still girlish laughter made him feel that spring had come early.

“Was it I who called for this rendezvous or you?”

Subhadra fell silent. Time had not healed the wounds, only kept them hidden. “I have come as a friend,” she said, averting her gaze.

Suyodhana walked towards the river. The silver moon lay shattered in the Ganga. He hoped Bhanu had not woken to find him gone.

“Uttara is pregnant.”

“Convey my congratulations to Abhimanyu. But you do not look nearly old enough to be a grandmother, Subhadra.”

Subhadra’s dimples leapt into her cheeks for a brief moment. “Abhimanyu is impatient for war.”

“Should I be happy to know your son is itching to kill me?”

“Suyo, he just wants to help his father.”

A sharp retort rose to Suyodhana’s lips. To his surprise, she began to weep. “I am afraid... he does not listen to me. To his father he is just one among many sons from many wives, but I have only him. He is too young to fight in this war.” She moved closer and gripped Suyodhana’s
angavastra,
wetting his chest with her tears. Her perfume brought back ghosts of long dead moments and he felt himself going weak at the knees. Even after all these years, he could not bear to see her in tears.

“Please, Suyo, spare my son. He is too young to fight you or Karna or the other great warriors on your side.”

Suyodhana’s mind felt numb. He could almost hear Bhanu pleading with him about Lakshmana Kumara. Bhanu! What was he doing here with Arjuna’s wife? Suyodhana turned away from Subhadra, freeing himself from her grip. “It is war, not child’s play. In battle, warriors get hurt and killed.”

“Is Abhimanyu just a warrior to you? As a child, he adored you.”

“The women’s wing of the Dwaraka palace is large. If he is afraid, let him hide there.”

“My son is no coward! He is Arjuna’s son!”

“Then ask Arjuna to protect him, if he can.”

Subhadra’s eyes flashed in anger. Suyodhana refused to meet her gaze and stood staring at the river, his hands crossed over his chest.

“You are no longer the Suyodhana I knew.”

“The Suyodhana you knew died when you eloped with my cousin.”

“I thank my stars and my brother Krishna, for that. You are the most evil man I know.”

“Duryodhana is evil, Subhadra; the whole world knows it.”

“Your arrogance knows no limits. You have insulted my son, my husband, and me. You will pay the price, Duryodhana. I will tell my son not to flinch if his arrow points at you. I will advise him to be the worthy son of a great father. He will be the storm that will destroy your armies.”

“You came to beg me for your son’s life and now you are cursing me? You have not changed at all.”

“Duryodhana, keep away your Lakshmana Kumara from the battlefield. If the royal poet shows his face to Abhimanyu, you can start making the funeral arrangements for your son.”

Suyodhana turned and walked away. He could feel her eyes on his back. He was furious and yet, how he loved her still! He hurried back to the palace, his head bent. When he passed his son’s chamber, he paused to listen to Kumara’s breathing. He fiddled with the pearl necklace he wore, trying to suppress long-forgotten memories. Then too, the air had smelt of burning incense and smoking torches. Bhanu had been talking to Subhadra, and Abhimanyu had been a soft little bundle in his arms, playing with his pearl necklace. He had bestowed the necklace on Subhadra’s son, kissing his curls.

The smoke from the dying torches was making his eyes burn. Suyodhana hoped Subhadra had returned safely. He should not have left her alone at the deserted riverbank. He reminded himself that memories should not blunt the sharpness of his weapons. He was a Kshatriya and war was his
dharma.
Hopefully, Abhimanyu would not be wearing that pearl necklace when he faced him on the battlefield.

*****

54
   
R
ULES
OF
W
AR

“PITAMAHA, HOW CAN ANYONE PREDICT
what will happen in the course of battle?” Suyodhana asked, bewildered by the words of the document in front of him. He and Yudhishtra had been summoned to the patriach’s chambers to agree to the codes of war. Suyodhana looked up impatiently, wondering if this was just another trick by his wily cousin. He felt only pity for Yudhishtra, who wished to impose the old rules of
varna
on his people. And the rules Bhishma was now reading aloud, belonged to an era which should have been finished and buried long ago. Once the war was won, Suyodhana vowed to himself that change would come.

Yudhishtra sat reading the ancient codes and ethics governing warfare from a birch leaf manuscript as the cousins faced each other in Bhishma’s chamber. A lone lamp lighted their faces. In the shadows, Vidhura stood with lines of worry creasing his forehead.

“I am ready to take the oath, Pitamaha,” Yudhishtra said.

“People who have no intention of following the rules are the first to agree to them,” Suyodhana retorted disdainfully.

Bhishma brought his hand down on the table, making the lamp flame flicker. Both cousins bowed their heads. Vidhura picked up the birch leaf and handed it over to Bhishma.

“This is not a casual game of dice, this is war. The two of you have destroyed the peace of this land with your petty rivalry. Even now you cannot stop bickering. This is the ancient code of conduct in war, written by our great rishis and seers. We are not Mlechas.”

“I have always believed in
dharma,
Pitamaha,” Yudhishtra said, raising his head. Suyodhana’s lips curved in a smile of derision.

“Once I have read it aloud, I would like both of you to take the oath by placing a hand over the flame.” Bhishma waited for either of his grand-nephews to speak. When there was no response, he began reading.

“Rule 1: All battles shall begin after sunrise and end at sunset precisely. Rule 2: A group of warriors shall not attack a single warrior. Rule 3: In a duel, both warriors shall use the same type of weapon and be mounted or remain on foot alike.”

“How is it possible to ensure such a thing in the heat of battle?” Yudhishtra asked, his broad brow creased in confusion.

“What is so difficult, cousin? A warrior on foot fights only another warrior on the ground. A mounted warrior fights only another who is mounted, a chariot fights only another chariot, and an elephant another elephant,” Suyodhana said.

Bhishma nodded and continued. “Rule 4: If a warrior surrenders, he shall not be harmed or killed. He shall be extended the respect due to a prisoner of war and his wounds shall be treated by the
Vaidyas
of the capturing side. Are both of you clear about this?”

The cousins nodded. Bhishma adjusted the wick of the lamp and moved closer to the light. “Rule 5: An injured or unarmed warrior shall not be killed. Rule 6: An unconscious warrior shall not be harmed. Rule 7: Water carriers, drummers,
Vaidyas
and their assistants, scribes reporting to their commanders or rulers, who are not warriors but present on the battlefield, shall not be harmed or killed.”

“What if they are spies?” Suyodhana asked.

“Either side may ask the other to remove from the battlefield any man suspected of being a spy, and allow a replacement to be made.”

“Are such elaborate rules really necessary, or even practical?” Suyodhana asked Bhishma.

“I fear for those under your command, Suyodhana, if you have not yet grasped the scale and complexity of this war. From north to south, armies are marshalling to fight on one side or the other. Before it ends, death and detruction will stalk this land. The world has never seen anything like it and God willing, never will again. There will be at least eighteen
akhshounis
in combat. Do you want to fight without rules?”

Both sides were still trying to assess each other’s strength. Alliances were being forged every day. The numbers were overwhelming.

“Rule 8: No warrior shall kill or injure another by striking from behind. Rule 9: No warrior shall attack a woman.”

“That is surely ridiculous. Are women even allowed to fight?” Yudhishtra asked with a smile.

Bhishma put down the birch leaf and stared at the Pandava Prince. “You are a scholar, Yudhishtra. I trust you have read history. It will serve you well to remember Durga.”

“But she was a Goddess, Pitamaha, not an ordinary woman.”

“Do not forget that every woman has the same strength within her. She is not a thing to be pawned.” Yudhishtra looked away, ashamed. “Or to be stripped in public,” added Bhishma. It was Suyodhana’s turn to flush and drop his gaze. “Rule 10: No warrior shall strike a horse or elephant if his life is not threatened.”

“Even the animals have rules?” Suyodhana asked.

“Only men break the rules, Suyodhana, not the animals. Every life is precious, be it an ant or a human. So no animal shall be injured unnecessarily. Rule 11: The rules specific to each weapon shall be followed. A warrior shall not be attacked or killed when his bow has broken or he is disarmed. In a mace fight, the warriors shall not hit below the waist.”

“Pitamaha, we know these basic rules of combat; they were the first lessons we were taught in warrior training at the age of five,” Yudhishtra smiled at the stern-faced patriarch.

“There is no harm in reminding ourselves, Yudhishtra. The final rule is to fight fairly, in the true spirit of
dharma.
Kurukshetra is the temple of
dharma.
History will not forgive or forget those who break the rules of
dharma.
Remember, the battlefield is one of life’s great levellers. It does not matter whether you are bareheaded or wear a crown. Neither the Gods nor men can escape the laws of
karma.”

Bhishma put the birch leaf back on the table and looked at his grand-nephews. Both sat with bowed heads. There was no going back now. After a moment’s silence, the old man put out his hands over the flame of the lamp saying, “Repeat after me...”

Yudhishtra was the first to put out his hand. Bhishma waited for Suyodhana to follow.

“Pitamaha, if I give my word I must then abide by it. I fear that in the heat of battle I may not always be able to follow my oath.”

“Your cousin has agreed and he, too, is a man of honour, I hope. You are my grand-nephews, scions of the Kuru dynasty, inheritors of the legacy of the great Emperor Bharata. Our dynasty has given its name to our holy land. You are all Bharatas. Let your conduct be worthy. Now, repeat after me...”