Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (13 page)

The wealth and power of the Bharatas

were largely due to Pandu. In his time,

before he had retreated to the forest,

Pandu had been an outstanding warrior

subduing lands for many miles around,

annexing them to the Bharata kingdom,

stuffing the vast vaults of Hastinapura

with wealth of every kind. The people prospered.

Pandu had been loved.

And now, in turn,

his sons, having acquired at Kampilya

a taste for battle, went on their own campaigns

at least as formidable as their father’s,

earning a most glorious reputation.

Hearing reports of the five Pandavas’

prowess and strength, Dhritarashtra became

filled with anxiety. His nights were sleepless

and uneasy.

He summoned Kanika,

one of his ministers, a man accomplished

in the labyrinthine arts of politics

and intrigue. “Sir, you must be bold,” he said.

“A king should strike against his enemies

before they grow in power. Hide your intentions,

then act with single-minded ruthlessness.

Each enemy requires a different tactic.

The timid should be terrorized, the brave

should be conciliated, the covetous

kept sweet with gifts, while equals and inferiors

should be crushed by a powerful show of arms.

“Even close kin, even revered teachers

should be put down if they turn dangerous,

and your nephews are becoming enemies.

You have been kind to them for far too long.

Pretend to love them still, until you find

a way to free yourself. You know, young trees

are easy to transplant. But every day

those brothers, nourished by the people’s love,

establish deeper roots.”

Dhritarashtra

listened, but he knew that Vidura

and Bhishma, if asked, would have offered him

a different view. The blind king always wanted

to be seen to act with complete rectitude.

He groped his way toward decision, clinging

to the last advice he had been given.

Young Yudhishthira, the heir apparent,

resembled his father. He was generous,

concerned for the people and their families.

The young prince had a warm and natural manner

and the population loved him, unaccustomed

to having their voices heard. Dhritarashtra,

by incapacity or inclination,

was remote, and Bhishma preoccupied

with large affairs of state.

Up until now,

Duryodhana had thought that his father’s rule

would last for years to come. He had influence

over the king. Meanwhile, partly by dint

of bribery and blackmail, and with support

from Shakuni and Karna, he was busy

weaving a network of alliances,

a secret coterie made up of men

bound to him by ties of obligation;

men of ill will, who felt themselves shut out

from the gilded circle of the Pandavas.

But then the Kaurava, ever vigilant,

started to pick up alarming gossip.

His informants went about the streets

and marketplaces, lingering on corners,

loitering in doorways. So it was

that Duryodhana’s spies reported to him

a buzz of restlessness, a new climate.

People were clamoring for change, saying,

“Dhritarashtra isn’t up to it.

Due to his blindness, he did not inherit;

why is he king now? What kind of king

can he be, with no eyes in his head?

The eldest Pandava, wise beyond his years,

should be our king immediately, not later.

It’s up to us to make our voices heard.”

All this, the spies faithfully reported.

Duryodhana sweated and shook with rage.

He rushed to the king. “Father, listen to me.

Out there, beyond the palace walls, unrest

is stirring among the common citizens.

They want Yudhishthira to be their king

instead of you! Think of what this means.

You have allowed your nephews to usurp

the place you and your sons should occupy

in popular esteem. Do you realize

you have condemned your children to penury—

yes, that’s what you’ve done! In a few years from now,

when you are gone, and all the elders too,

we Kauravas—your own sons—will be begging

Yudhishthira even for food and drink!

His son will be king after him, and
his
son—

we will be disinherited for ever.

This is your fault. If you were a strong king

we wouldn’t have to heed the people’s views.”

The prince sank down, weeping angry tears.

The king’s heart swithered, hating to hurt his son,

his first-born, first-loved eldest. And he remembered

Kanika’s stark warnings. All the same

he would not be accused without a protest.

“Come, my dear—you know Yudhishthira.

He’s like Pandu, he’d always treat you fairly.

Even if he weren’t the heir apparent

the people would worship him—I myself

have heard the way they ululate and cheer

when he walks out among them. If I now

fail to honor my commitment to him

there’ll be a revolution, as you say.”

“Enough!” cried Duryodhana. “I can’t stand

having to watch those preening Pandavas

strut around—they make my life a torment.

Father, you raised me as a king’s first-born;

I should be king in turn. If you don’t listen,

if you consign me to subservience,

I’ll kill myself!”

Then Duryodhana

spoke about the network he was forming

of those who would support him when the moment

was right for him to lay claim to the throne.

But he needed time. “I have a plan,”

he said. “At least give me a breathing space—

send the Pandavas on some journey. Meanwhile,

in their absence, I’ll build my public base,

do what it takes to become popular.

The people’s memories are short, and fickle.

Once they start receiving generous handouts

they’ll switch support to me. Then, later on,

the Pandavas can come back.”

“Yes, my son,

the same maneuver had occurred to me,

although it seemed too devious to mention.

But what about the elders? Would they not

understand this plan as a banishment

and refuse to sanction it?”

Duryodhana

had been weighing up each of the elders:

how Bhishma would avoid taking sides,

not wanting to divide the dynasty;

how Drona would follow the wishes of his son,

Ashvatthaman, jealous of Arjuna;

how Kripa would side with the two of them;

how Vidura favored the Pandavas

but had no power, being of low status.

“The plan is perfect,” said Duryodhana.

“Act on it—remove the dreadful thorn

that’s sticking in my heart, this raging grievance.”

Now Dhritarashtra’s course seemed clearer to him.

Now, at least, the king would sleep at night.

He knew his son would not be satisfied

with a brief respite, but he shut his mind

to what the prince’s darker plans might be.

In the city of Varanavata

a festival to honor the god Shiva

would soon take place.

“My dear Yudhishthira,”

said Dhritarashtra, smiling at his nephew,

“you should go. Take Kunti and your brothers,

enjoy the festival, relax. Let people

in the provinces see their future king.”

Yudhishthira was wary, but said nothing,

prevented from opposing the king’s idea

by respect for his father’s elder brother.

He made ready for the coming journey;

brahmins chose the most auspicious day

for the departure, performing prescribed rites.

While the preparations were under way

Duryodhana sought out Purochana,

his aide, whose loyalty he counted on.

“There is no ally I trust more than you.

Help me, and you will be well rewarded.

You must rush ahead to Varanavata.

Build a splendid mansion near the armory

specially for the Pandavas, providing

every comfort, every kind of pleasure.

Call it ‘the House of Wealth.’ No luxury

should be lacking—sumptuous brocades,

couches so soft a man could sleep for ever,

gold cornices, cool, jasmine-scented courtyards.

That will keep my father satisfied.

“But under gorgeous tapestries, the walls

should be stuffed with straw, oil-drenched, and smoothed

with gilded wax; the floors, crushed travertine

blended with resin; and those elaborate couches,

positioned under weighty architraves,

should be softwood, soaked in butter, gleaming

with twenty coats of lac.

Let them settle in,

let them enjoy themselves without suspicion,

and then, one windy night, while they’re asleep,

an ‘accidental’ fire should torch the building

and them as well.” Purochana understood.

The day arrived for the Pandavas to leave.

As Yudhishthira touched the elders’ feet

to receive their blessing, wise Vidura

murmured to him in code: “Be very watchful.

One who understands his enemy

cannot come to harm—be guided by

the jackal, who prepares many bolt-holes.”

The Pandavas arrived in Varanavata

and were made welcome. Canny Yudhishthira,

as soon as he had set foot in the mansion,

picked up a faint odor of ghee and resin.

He guessed. “Smell that!” he muttered to the others,

“but don’t betray by the slightest gesture

that we have noticed anything. Our cunning

must equal theirs.” Bhima’s inclination,

when the brothers talked about it later,

was to leave at once, escape the city.

But Yudhishthira warned, “Duryodhana

has power, allies, keys to the treasury.

We have none of that. If we should show,

by leaving now, that we have realized

what he is plotting, he would have us followed

and killed. We must be patient.”

He thought hard—

and remembered that in his entourage

was an engineer, a friend of Vidura.

At Varanavata, this man spent time

looking, listening, drawing his own conclusions.

He knew what wickedness was in the offing.

“I am a specialist in digging mines

and tunnels; I propose we sink a pit

beneath the inmost room, and then from there

drive a tunnel, deep under the grounds,

to surface in the woods. Purochana

will not move yet; he wants you to relax.

But you should all sleep underground, in case.”

Months passed. The Pandavas spent many hours

exploring the surrounding woods and forests

on the pretext of hunting expeditions.

Then the engineer sent them a message:

“Take care—Purochana intends to act

on the darkest night of the next lunar month.”

And, indeed, Yudhishthira had noticed

a new cheerfulness in Purochana.

Yudhishthira discussed the planned escape

with the others. Only one difficulty

occurred to them—their bones would not be found

among the ashes and, by this, their cousin

would know they had survived, and track them down

relentlessly, seeking to have them killed.

No one would ever know.

For some time,

Kunti had been providing food and shelter

to a poor tribal woman from the forest

and her sons—five strongly built young men.

But she had lately started to suspect

that they were spying for Purochana.

Before the appointed night, she held a feast

for the townsfolk and, as royal agent,

Purochana was invited. Liquor flowed