Epic Retold: The Mahabharata in Tweets (15 page)

Seeing me stagger, the forester snarls. Hands clubbed together, he swings for a third time, like a woodsman with axe.

I twist out of his way. Then, I begin my counterattack.

I go for his neck and chest. I rain blows on his vital regions. When he retreats on unsteady feet, I follow, systematically hammering him.

The pilgrims, who had fallen silent when they thought the forester had the upper hand, are now yelling encouragements at me.

Ducking under an uncertain blow from my adversary, I crash my forearm into his side. As he stumbles, I grab him in a tight headlock.

Choking, the forester fights to escape my hold. Wrapping my free arm around his chest, I half-turn, throwing him to the ground.

The forester crashes face down. As he lies stunned, I grab his hair and pull his head back.

All that remains now is to deliver the killing blow to his exposed neck.

Around me, the pilgrims are shouting louder. From the corner of my eye, I see Draupadi’s face. No fear there now. Only excitement.

I roar as I raise my clenched fist.

‘Kill him!’ I hear Yudhistira yell. ‘He who has dishonoured Draupadi must die!’

A sudden wave of revulsion engulfs me.

My elder brother had thought nothing of Draupadi’s honour when he pledged her for another throw of dice.

He had looked away when Dushasana dragged her half-dressed into the royal assemblage, then attempted to disrobe her.

The king had not ordered a kill then. Yet, when a forester who knows no better touches Draupadi, he wants revenge.

I lower my arm. I do not move as the forester gets up. Looking fearfully at me, he backs away. Then he turns, runs into the woods.

Everyone crowds around me. I touch my ribs gingerly. Sahadeva attempts to clean my face, where the forester has scratched a deep gash.

The pilgrims are upset over his release. His name is Jata, someone tells me, and this is not the first time he has attacked the hermitage.

Someone else expresses fear that Jata will return with more men from the forest. He could burn down the hermitage while we slept!

As I remain silent succumbing to Sahadeva’s ministrations, Draupadi walks across. Gentle fingertips explore the bruise on my flank.

But her words defy the butterfly touch.

‘First Kirmeeran, now Jata!’ she murmurs. ‘Killing foresters is hard for you now. Why is it that you value them over us, Bhima?’

Angrily, I turn away. Enough of these reprimands! Pushing through the crowd of pilgrims, I head for my hut.

As I walk past, I hear Yudhistira say, ‘Here comes another of the same blood. God knows what he will become when he grows up!’

I turn around. Ghatotkacha has entered the clearing with a few men. Sahadeva is telling him about Jata’s attack on the camp.

Ghatotkacha says, ‘I know Jata. He is not one of us. He is of the Asura clan.’

‘Tribals are all the same,’ Yudhistira mutters, walking away. ‘They kill and plunder and steal women when they can!’

Anger blazes in Ghatotkacha’s eyes. He makes as if to say something, but decides against it.

Then, without even his customary obeisance to me, my son turns on his heel and disappears the way he came.

The next day, at noon, Ghatotkacha returns with his men. They seem set for a long journey.

‘Our business here is finished,’ he says, standing before me. ‘We return today to our land.’

When I get up to embrace him, he bows respectfully and places a large basket at my feet.

‘For the king,’ he says. Then, without acknowledging Yudhistira, Ghatotkacha collects his men and walks away.

‘What is it?’ Yudhistira asks, uncertain. He opens the basket and recoils in horror.

In it rests Jata’s severed head, the neck still wet with blood.

NOT MINE

EPISODE 21

TWEETS 50

‘Arjuna is back!’

Draupadi is smiling. I have not seen such animation on her face in a while.

Months have flown by since the killing of Jata, months of patient waiting for Arjuna to arrive at Gandhamadana.

In those months, Yudhistira’s year as Draupadi’s husband has ended. Tonight, she moves into my hut. It is my turn.

‘Such a relief,’ Draupadi is saying. ‘Now we can sleep without fearing foresters!’

Ignoring her taunt, I rush to Yudhistira’s hut. Inside, Arjuna is seated with my elder brother. Nakula and Sahadeva are also present.

Arjuna jumps up to greet me. I pull him into a warm hug. Then, holding him at arm’s length, I look at my younger brother.

The years of travel have done him good. He is darker than ever, burnt almost black by the sun. I notice grey in his unkempt beard.

‘I have much to tell you,’ Arjuna says, smiling.

As I release him, I see both his palms are equally calloused. He must have practised shooting with both hands more than before.

Later that evening, after the fine meal Draupadi prepared, we sit around a fire, listening to Arjuna’s tales of strange lands.

The main reason for his travels was to learn more about warfare, acquire new weapons. And it is this that he speaks of the most.

Arjuna tells us about huge catapults that can batter fortifications from afar, of contraptions that shoot a dozen arrows at a time.

He speaks of spears that can pierce armour like skin, of weapons that can be deployed against cavalry and war elephants.

He has brought sketches of some designs. ‘Mayan can make these for us when the time comes,’ Nakula says, looking pleased.

Arjuna had travelled south, to a land where warriors used flexible, curling swords. He could not say enough of their nimbleness and agility.

‘They call this the urumi,’ Arjuna says, handing Nakula a tightly coiled blade.

Unfurled, it is a vicious piece of metal. Long, sharp, unpredictable. It would take some expert wielding.

Nakula says happily, ‘Another one for the armoury!’

Then Arjuna shows us the weapons he has personally acquired. Most are gifts from new friends, a few taken from those he vanquished.

There are arrows tipped with snake venom that kill at the tiniest scratch, arrows that light up as they seek the enemy.

‘Show us the fiery arrow!’ Sahadeva says.

Taking an arrow, Arjuna smears it with a strange substance. Then, casually, with his left hand, he shoots it high into the air.

As it soars, there is a searing flash. The arrow catches fire. I imagine how it would feel to have it hurtling towards me.

Then Arjuna shows us his pride. A heavy missile with a crescent arrowhead. It is a gift from a forester he befriended.

‘Ungainly to look at, but accurate once you get used to it,’ Arjuna says. He adds grimly, ‘I have someone in mind for this!’

Nakula is eager to see more of the weapons he has brought. But Yudhistira quizzes Arjuna about the customs in the lands he has been to.

What strange places he has visited! There are lands where women are the head of the house and men do their bidding.

Lands where marriage is truly a gamble: the blindfolded bride chooses a husband at random from a line of suitors.

We are surprised when Arjuna tells us about places where the people did not worship the gods of wind, fire or water.

And astonished when he tells us of cultures that worshipped the phallus and the vagina.

‘Tell us about the battles on the way,’ says Draupadi.

There were none worth mentioning, Arjuna says. Draupadi is not satisfied with that. Surely there must have been someone who attacked him?

‘Once someone named Kalakeya tried to waylay me,’ Arjuna says. ‘I killed him.’

‘Tell us about that!’ Draupadi says, her eyes shining. She adds more logs to the fire.

‘Oh, it was nothing. He was a bandit. Not trained in warfare. I killed him with an arrow. His men fled.’

Yawning, Yudhistira gets up. ‘Let us return to Kamyaka tomorrow,’ he says.

‘Why?’ Nakula asks. ‘Arjuna has just arrived!’

‘It is not wise to stay at a place for too long,’ Yudhistira reasons. ‘Also, this place is too far for allies to reach us.

‘We are nearing the end of our exile and Kamyaka is more central to base ourselves while we make plans for our future.’

After Yudhistira leaves, Arjuna tells us about his other conquests. Everywhere he went, women had flocked to him.

Draupadi gets up abruptly. Looking at me pointedly, she walks to my hut. My year with the queen begins tonight.

Ignoring the twins’ smirks, I stay by the fireside. Arjuna asks, ‘How have you been spending the exile?’

‘We have been pilgrims,’ Sahadeva says. ‘There is no hermitage we have not visited. Elder brother made sure of that!’

Arjuna then talks about meditation, how, on his way back, he spent months meditating in the bitter cold to improve his mental focus.

I stay with my brothers long after the campfire dies. I do not notice half the night has passed.

When I enter the hut, Draupadi is lost to the world, stretched out on the bed of grass I had laid for her earlier.

I approach her with trepidation. I have not had her in my bed in four years.

In the light of the dying oil lamp, I see a faint smile on her lips. When I sit beside her, she turns towards me.

Without opening her eyes, she murmurs something I do not catch. The fingers that caress my face are cool, yet they burn.

I rise quickly and walk outside. Stretching out by the dead campfire, I think of my own wife.

THE PRISONERS

EPISODE 22

TWEETS 62

In Kamyaka we receive more visitors than we have ever had so far. Sages and soothsayers come to meet Yudhistira almost every day.

Knowing well that some were spies of the blind king, I keep out of their way. The forest, in any case, is more interesting than people.

Envoys come too from friendly kings, bearing gifts and news. Mother is faring well at Uncle Vidura’s house.

But Indraprastha has suffered. People have moved out of the city. The palace is derelict, used by Duryodhana only as a hunting lodge.

Our forest life is quickly coming to an end. The most critical stage of our exile now looms ahead: a year incognito.