THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (21 page)

THIRTY-SIX DRONA’S REVENGE
 

Drona saw how Arjuna had become subdued and withdrawn after the exhibition. The princes’ education was complete; their guru called them all, Pandavas and Kauravas and said, “Your siksha is complete. Now give me my dakshina.”

They saw the deep fire in his eyes.

Bheema said, “We can never pay you back for everything you have taught us. But say what you want, Acharya; we will move the earth for you.”

“All the wealth of the Kurus is at your disposal,” said one of the Kaurava princes.

Drona turned on him and snapped, “It isn’t wealth I want. All my needs are already seen to.” A wistful look came into his eyes. “It is revenge I want, much sweeter than all the wealth in the world.”

Yudhishtira said evenly, “What revenge, Guru? We will give our lives to get you whatever you want.”

A spasm of darkness twitched on Drona’s face. “I want you to bring Drupada to me as a prisoner. Go to the Panchala kingdom, defeat him in battle and bring him to me alive. But remember, it was said no archer on earth could match Drupada.” He paused and looked at Arjuna, then, added softly, “Somehow, I don’t think that is true any more. Well? Will you give me my dakshina?”

The Kuru princes, Kauravas and Pandavas, cried together, “We will!”

Bheeshma, Vidura and Dhritarashtra supported Drona’s cause. An army was mustered. With the young Kurus at its head and Drona himself going with them, that force set out for the Panchala kingdom. Exhilarated at the prospect of a real battle, they rode to Drupada’s capital. Their acharya was the most excited of them all, like his pupils had never seen him before.

When he saw the army from Hastinapura surround his city Kampilya, Drupada was puzzled. He had no quarrel with the Kurus. But he was a kshatriya too and a great one. In no time, his legions were ready to repulse the invaders. Outside the city-walls Kuru horsemen took their positions for the attack; but the Kaurava princes were almost coming to blows, each one was so eager to lead the first charge. Drona was having trouble keeping them calm and now the Pandavas won their first battle. Not that their blood wasn’t up as well, but the sons of Pandu behaved with composure. The five of them stood aside quietly under a tree.

Duryodhana wanted to lead the first onslaught; Yudhishtira, the eldest prince, said he had no objection. When the Kaurava force charged the Panchala army, the Pandavas stayed back with their guru. Arjuna’s dejection of the past weeks fell away from him. He was confident, “Drupada will prove too much for our cousins. They have no archer who can face him.”

Drona murmured, “Let us wait and see”, but he knew Arjuna was right. The brahmana knew what a warrior Drupada was. He also knew his own fortunes had changed; he could feel it in his body. Let Drupada tire himself against the Kauravas. Then Arjuna could go into battle.

Weapons flashing, chariots thundering, their roars deafening, the Kaurava legion charged the defending Panchala force. The front-line of the defense fell to Duryodhana, their heads crushed by his mace blows. His brothers were terrible around him and it seemed the Panchalas would be quickly overcome.

The Kauravas breached the front gates of Kampilya. On horseback and in chariots, they stormed up the streets, felling Drupada’s soldiers at will. They gained the central square of the Panchala capital. The sides of his chariot bloody, a triumphant Duryodhana was about to hoist the Kuru flag there. Suddenly, deep sea-conches boomed and the palace-gates flew open. From them rode Drupada in a white chariot, like a wheel of fire.

Cutting down everything in his way he came and his arrows were a wave of wizardry. His chariot, too, was not less than magical: it seemed to be everywhere at once. Now the blood-soaked square rang with the screams of Kuru soldiers mown down like stalks of wheat. His horses were so swift it seemed there was not one Drupada, but a hundred, a thousand of him. By himself the Panchala king was like an army of Yama. Not an arrow left his bow but it claimed an enemy life; and his shafts flowed in torrent.

The flag fell from Duryodhana’s fingers. He saw there was no Kaurava who could remotely match the Panchala king. Duryodhana called out to his brothers to retreat. They turned their chariots and fled before Drupada razed the army between himself and them and came for their lives.

Only Dusasana, Duryodhana’s fiercest brother, stood his ground briefly. Dusasana wounded Drupada from a side with a sizzling salvo like hot light. The Panchala king broke the bow in that prince’s hand and shot the helm off his head. The Kaurava fell on his chariot-floor and screamed at his sarathy, “Fly for our lives!”

Armed with staves, knives, household pestles and whatever else they could lay their hands on, the common people of Kampilya came roaring out of their homes. They fell on the last stragglers of the Kaurava army. Even as they clubbed and hacked them to death, victory conches blasted and drum-rolls resounded in Drupada’s jubilant city. Drupada himself felt ill at ease. He chose not to pursue the fleeing Kauravas and finish them off outside his walls. Instead, he remained within his gates as if he were a coward.

Meanwhile Duryodhana and his brothers came howling before Drona, “You didn’t warn us about Drupada! There is no archer like him on earth. We couldn’t stand against him, no one can.”

Seeing how they trembled, doubt clutched at Drona. He thought he might have overestimated the Kuru princes. Perhaps the time had come for him to take the field himself against Drupada.

Then five young kshatriyas stepped out from under a tree where they had been waiting patiently. They touched their guru’s feet and said, “We will attack Drupada now.”

Arjuna and Bheema glowed with anticipation, but none of the frenzy the Kauravas had shown. Laying his palm on their heads, Drona blessed them. Arjuna said, “There is no need for Yudhishtira to come with us. We four will bring Drupada back to you.”

Duryodhana and his brothers laughed. Dusasana cried, “Four of you where a hundred of us failed! Bid farewell to your brother and your guru before you go.”

Duryodhana nudged his brother to make him stop, lest Drona held the Pandavas back. The Kaurava was sure Drupada would kill the four foolhardy Pandavas. Then Yudhishtira would be at Duryodhana’s mercy; he may not even need to have him killed.

Drona said, “Yudhishtira, you will be king one day; you mustn’t ride into this battle. You others beware of Drupada.”

Bheema, Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva climbed into their chariots. Drona asked, “Won’t you take the army with you?”

Arjuna replied, “We will go by ourselves.”

Bheema blew a blast on his conch, rattling the masonry on Drupada’s ramparts. Roaring then, a pride of young lions on their first hunt, their manes flying in the wind, their bodies shining, Devaputras that they were, the four Pandavas flew at the gates of Kampilya.

Bheema rode in front. The very sight of him, a titan with a huge mace gleaming in his hands, made Drupada’s soldiers break ranks and run. But he was on them like an angry force of nature, smashing down elephants and horses, hewing down footsoldiers, blood flying, screams ringing. The Panchala ranks parted like a school of minnows for a whale. Their courage broken, they fled even as the vanaras once did in Lanka, when Kumbhakarna came to battle. In moments, a way was clear between Arjuna and Drupada.

Drupada raised his bow and arrows flared like thoughts from it: the same livid stream that had put the Kauravas to flight. But it was an archer of a different caliber who now faced him in that wide city-square. Arjuna, the son of Indra, confronted the Panchala king. From Arjuna’s bow a tide of arrows rose and drowned Drupada’s stream in the air. The Pandava prince matched the Panchala king shaft for shaft and beat him back.

Drupada’s kshatriyas, all fine archers, surrounded Arjuna’s chariot and covered him in fire. But then it seemed unearthly power was upon the Pandava prince: they did not see his shafts anymore, but a river of light seemed to flow from his bow. Most eerily, they no longer saw Arjuna himself. He was just a ghostly blur; his archery seemed to have absorbed him bodily.

Yet, screams of death rent the air. The river of light was made of deadly arrows and every one took a life. Drupada’s kshatriyas had always thought their king was a matchless bowman; but this prince’s archery was godlike and the fear he brought unbearable. They either fled from him or perished.

Roaring to keep his own courage and in fact awestruck by Arjuna’s genius, Drupada charged the Pandava. As Sambara the Daitya once charged Indra, Drupada plunged at Arjuna, hoping to shatter the young man’s nerve.

A thunderclap exploded in the space between the two rathas, then six more. Smoke billowed around Drupada’s chariot. When that king looked up from that moment’s destruction, he saw his sarathy and horses were dead and his flagstaff cut down. Now he felt the bow in his hands, the jeweled weapon given him by his master Bharadvaja, riven by a silver shaft. Arjuna stood facing Drupada and the king trembled with shock. No other archer on earth could have done this to him. Arjuna’s bowstring was drawn to his ear and his next arrow aimed at Drupada’s heart. With a moan, the Panchala prepared to die.

Then Arjuna dropped his bow and leapt down from his chariot. In a flash, he was at Drupada’s side, his sword across the king’s throat. Like three legions Bheema, Nakula and Sahadeva held the Panchala army at bay. Arjuna hauled Drupada into his own chariot. The shame Karna had wrapped him in falling away like a dream, the Pandava rode back to his guru with his prisoner.

Now Bheema had leapt down from his chariot; gripped by bloodlust, he was slaughtering Drupada’s soldiers like helpless children. Arjuna swerved his chariot toward his brother and cried, “Drupada is related to the Kurus, Bheema! Leave his army. Let us take our dakshina to the Acharya.”

Reluctantly, Bheema lowered his bloody mace and, dissatisfied though he left a hundred corpses behind him, rode out of the city. Roaring, the brothers issued from the smashed gates of Kampilya. When the Kuru soldiers saw Arjuna bring Drupada out with a sword at his throat, they rushed forward again to have revenge for their earlier rout.

Drona saw Arjuna ride toward him with his captive. Arjuna pulled Drupada down from his chariot and marched him to Drona. Drupada breathed, “You! I should have guessed.”

“Yes. These are my sishyas.”

Tears stung Drupada’s eyes. That proud kshatriya stood with his head bowed before Drona. Drona had forgotten nothing of his own humiliation by the Panchala. He savored the moment silently.

Then, he said, “You once said that friendship was possible only between equals. It seems to me that today you have need of my friendship. Today, my old friend, we are not equals. When you spat on our friendship, Drupada, I stood helpless before you, with nothing I could call my own. Time has come a full circle.

Now it is you who have nothing, Drupada; your kingdom is not yours anymore. My pupils have crushed your army. Arjuna’s sword is at your throat and not even your life is your own. One word from me and he will kill you. But we brahmanas, even the poorest among us, are forgiving. You and I spent some happy years in my father’s asrama. I have never forgotten those years, Drupada. Here, I offer you my hand once more in friendship. Remember this hand holds your life in it. Take it Panchala, be my friend.”

His heart dying within him for shame, but never showing a trace of it, Drupada took Drona’s hand. The brahmana was so happy he forgot his anger and embraced Drupada. Drona cried, “You said that friendship can be only between equals. Well, I will make an equal of you, you poor pauper. To prove that I still want to be your friend, I return half your kingdom to you!”

No kshatriya would have committed that foolishness, but would have killed Drupada for fear of his revenge. Drona was a brahmana; he thought naively that everything was forgiven. He cried, “Look, there is the Ganga. I return all the lands south of it to you, to be your kingdom. All the Panchala lands north of the river I will keep for myself.” He laughed, “So that we can always be equals and thus be friends!”

Drupada returned Drona’s embrace. “Drona, let us be friends for ever.”

Drona had tears in his eyes. Drupada thought, ‘Ah, the young Arjuna is a peerless kshatriya! I must have a daughter whom he will marry. And, of course, I must perform a yagna and pray for a son as well, who will kill Drona for what he has done today.’

Drupada ruled his remaining kingdom from Kampilya, in the province of Makandi, from the Ganga upto the banks of the river Charmanwati. Drona ruled the northern Panchala lands with all its towns and people, the country called Ahichatra. It was the Pandavas’ and especially Arjuna’s, guru-dakshina to him.

THIRTY-SEVEN A FATHER AND HIS SON
 

Dhritarashtra was king of Hastinapura and the Kurus. But the people knew it was Pandu’s campaigns that had extended the boundaries of the Kuru kingdom as far as they were now. Besides, Yudhishtira was older than Duryodhana. The Pandava was noble, steadfast and utterly honest. Against his own wishes, Dhritarashtra crowned his brother’s son yuvaraja of the Kuru kingdom, the heir apparent. Yudhishtira quickly proved himself wise and discerning, far beyond his years.

One day, shortly after the humbling of Drupada, Drona called all the Pandavas and Kauravas. The acharya seemed distressed. The previous night, he had a prophetic dream in which a horrible war of the age was revealed to him and his own role in it. Dismayed by what he had seen, Drona assembled all his pupils in his yard.

It was to Arjuna that he said, “I received the brahmasirsa from my guru Agnivesha. And my master had the astra from Agastya muni.”

He paused to show how serious he was. “Only to you, Arjuna, have I given the secret of that weapon. For if you summon it, it can destroy the world. I know your heart is strong. I know you will never lightly invoke the ayudha that bears the heads of Brahma. Yet I have given you a great gift in the brahmasirsa and I now demand a special dakshina from you.”

Arjuna said quietly, “My life is yours if you want it.”

“That I know. But what I want from you is that you swear an oath to me, something that may be harder to pledge than your life.”

“Tell me what it is, Acharya.”

“If you know what I want you may not give it even to me. First swear that whatever I ask you will give me, unconditionally.”

Arjuna drew a deep breath. “I swear it in your name and by all that is sacred to me.”

“I want you to swear that if some day, I face you in battle, you will fight me without reserve. Even to the death of one of us.”

Arjuna cried out softly, the other princes gasped; but Drona stood waiting. At last, Arjuna nodded wordlessly.

Now Drona smiled and said to the others, “You are all witnesses to his vow. He must honor it at any cost.”

For a year more, Drona kept just Arjuna near him, as his most remarkable disciple. He taught him secrets and refinements to his archery, beyond the grasp of any other pupil, including Aswatthama. Avidly Arjuna learnt those subtle and complex lessons from his guru. Finally, one day, Drona called his favorite sishya. The master appeared exceptionally relaxed and he made Arjuna sit beside him. They were alone together.

Drona said, “Your tutelage is complete. This last year has been invaluable and now I think I can proclaim that my sishya Arjuna is the greatest archer on earth.”

Arjuna glowed. The Pandava had grown with each day that passed: not only in skill but in spirit. At last, he felt he had put Karna, the only threat, behind him.

Drona said quietly, “Yet, if I were to tell the world that you are the greatest archer in it, Arjuna, I would be lying.”

Arjuna gave a start: so Karna was still better than he was. His face grew dark. Drona laughed, “I am not speaking of Karna, but of another.” His voice was wistful. “Another like whom there has never been any archer in all time and never shall be.”

“Who is he, Acharya?”

“Your own cousin, Arjuna: Krishna of the House of Vrishni. Your mother has a brother called Vasudeva. Krishna is his son.” He smiled and shook his head. “Though in truth he is no one’s child but his own; for he has no beginning or end. He is all things and all men. He is the Avatara and he knows about you and longs to see you.”

Arjuna felt a surge of elation, as if Krishna’s was the name he had been waiting all his life to hear. An ecstatic current coursed in his heart, as if everything meaningful in his life was enshrined in that name. It was an unprecedented emotion that swept over the young Pandava, one he could not explain at all. As for jealousy, Arjuna felt no trace of it, as he had with Ekalavya and Karna; he only felt an uncanny joy.

From far away, recalling Arjuna from the reverie he had lapsed into, Drona was saying, “Humility is a great thing, Arjuna, much greater than archery.”

In a year of being yuvaraja, Yudhishtira won the people’s hearts. Now another guru came to teach in the court of Hastinapura. He was as much as a master with a mace as Drona was with a bow and arrows. He was Krishna’s older brother Balarama. Bheema and Duryodhana were quickly his best pupils. Indeed, Drona had begged Balarama to come to Hastinapura for the sake of those two princes.

Though Bheema was as gifted as Duryodhana, the young Kaurava became Balarama’s favorite. Very soon, word in the palace had it that Duryodhana was as dear to Balarama as Arjuna was to Drona. Duryodhana basked in that affection. He was devoted to this guru, particularly since the great Yadava openly preferred him to Bheema.

Meanwhile, Sahadeva became exceptionally proficient at the Vedas and other, more arcane, lore; of these, also, Drona was a master. Nakula was always treated like the youngest among the Pandavas; though, in fact, he was born before his twin. Nakula was an adept with unusual astras and a master charioteer.

Arjuna was inspired by the tales he heard in Hastinapura about his father Pandu’s valor. His taste for battle had been whetted in Kampilya and his kshatriya blood cried out for more. He set out with his brothers and an army to conquer some of the other kingdoms of Bharatavarsha.

The Pandavas slew Sauvira, who had once kept a force of marauding gandharvas at bay during his long yagna. Arjuna humbled the Yavana king, a warrior whom even Pandu had not been able to subdue. He killed Vipula, who had humiliated the Kurus, chasing them countless times from his kingdom. The Pandava vanquished Dattamitra also, who was a greater kshatriya than any of the above.

Legend has it that Arjuna and Bheema, in just two chariots and with no other army, overcame the kings of the east who fought with ten thousand rathas. They also defeated some kings of the south. The Pandava brothers came home to Hastinapura with the spoils of war—gold, jewels, horse and elephant in thousands, as not even Pandu had in his finest days.

So far, Dhritarashtra had done his best to be a father to his brother’s sons; but envy and not love, is the most powerful force in any kingdom. Now that the Pandavas were no longer children and their deeds so overshadowed those of his own sons, envy began to consume Dhritarashtra. It began to rule the blind king.

More even than Arjuna and Bheema’s military triumphs, what turned Dhritarashtra’s heart against his nephews was what the people of Hastinapura were saying. The Pandavas were being extolled at street-cornres and in the people’s councils. Everyone was saying that Yudhishtira should be made king.

“Dhritarashtra was never really a king. Once there was no choice but to let him rule, at least in name; while Bheeshma and Vidura attended to the real task. Now we have Yudhishtira. Let him be king. He is young and honest and all the elders think highly of him.”

“He will care for Dhritarashtra’s sons like his own brothers.”

“More than can be said of the king’s sons.”

“Arjuna has added immeasurably to the kingdom.”

“It is only dharma that Yudhishtira becomes the king.”

Duryodhana had many spies in Hastinapura. They were unhappy their prince was being reduced to such insignificance in the kingdom and brought word to him of what the people were saying. Duryodhana came to see his father. Always partial to his firstborn, Dhritarashtra took his hand and made him sit close to him.

“Your hand is cold and you are trembling! What is it, my child?”

“You have brought us all to the edge of ruin. I told you it was foolish to make Yudhishtira the yuvaraja. Do you know what all Hastinapura is saying? Do you know what the people want?”

Dhritarashtra’s blind face twitched, “Tell me what the people say.”

“They want you to give the throne to Yudhishtira. That is what your precious people want!” hissed his son.

His blindness had taught Dhritarashtra the value of patience. Growing anxious at his son’s mood, the king said, “You will achieve nothing by anger, Duryodhana. When you can’t control yourself, how can you hope to control outside events?” He sighed. “My poor child, there is something you are forgetting. Though I was the king, Pandu conquered most of the lands we rule from Hastinapura today. How can I forget these Pandavas are my brother’s sons?

Yudhishtira deserves every shred of praise with which he is covered. Alas, it is true that being blind I have never been much of a king. The throne of Hastinapura does seem cursed and no real king has sat on it after Shantanu. Even I have dreamt of Yudhishtira becoming the great ruler this kingdom deserves. I have prayed that, with his brothers beside him, he will restore the fame of the Kurus. And I had hoped against hope that my own sons would become loyal ministers and commanders in this kingdom, you also just like Yudhishtira’s brothers; and find your glory in that.”

With a cry, Duryodhana wrenched his hand away. He began to pace the floor in a fever. Dhritarashtra said gently, “I am sad to see you so full of hatred, especially toward your cousin Bheema. Think at least of your own best interests, Duryodhana. Yudhishtira is already enthroned in the hearts of the people. To oppose him would be dangerous.”

A howl came from his son. He screamed at his father, “Enough! Oh, how craven your blindness has made you. I know why these honeyed words spill from your lips, though not from your heart, my lord.” He laughed. “You think we may be overheard! I made sure there is no one here besides you and

I. Now listen to me carefully: this is my last word to you.

If Yudhishtira becomes king, his son shall also be king one day. The Kuru kingdom will pass on to the sons and grandsons of Pandu and the line of Dhritarashtra will fade into a lowly, subservient one. What you are asking, father, is that your sons, the heirs to the throne of Hastinapura, renounce their pre-eminence forever and become dependents of the Pandavas.

I am the king’s eldest son. I would rather die than eke out the rest of my life as Yudhishtira’s servant and Arjuna’s servant and gluttonous Bheema’s slave!”

Duryodhana said with finality, “Father, I know you love me. I was raised as a king’s firstborn son and I must be a king as well. Nothing less will do. If you cannot give me the throne, but decide that I must depend on the Pandavas’ charity, I will kill myself.”

Kneeling abruptly and laying his head in Dhritarashtra’s lap, Duryodhana wept. The king stroked his head. “Ah, you are making yourself miserable for nothing, my child. Pandu was gentle and loving. He was generous to a fault. Yudhishtira has taken after his father and he has already made a matchless conquest. He has won the people’s hearts. All the Pandavas are popular. Bheeshma, Vidura, Kripa and Drona are inordinately fond of them. The Pandavas’ wellwishers and friends are past counting. It would never have done to make enemies of them. It was after deep reflection, Duryodhana, that I crowned Yudhishtira yuvaraja.”

The king paused and moistened his lips. “Our ministers and commanders are loyal to Yudhishtira. They were all Pandu’s men once, or their fathers were. Our army is Yudhishtira’s army. Won’t they kill us for the Pandavas’ sake? Don’t be rash, my child. Think of every consequence before you act.”

Duryodhana smiled. His father did not know how long, how carefully he and his confederates had been plotting to have the kingdom for themselves. The inmost circle of the conspiracy consisted of Duryodhana himself, Dusasana and Shakuni, its scheming mastermind. Lately another warrior, bound in gratitude and friendship, had joined them: Karna.

“I have also thought of what you are saying, my lord. We have distributed lavish gifts, in secret; we have made quiet endowments of land and property. The treasury, the counselors and most of the army commanders who matter are with us.

As for Pitama Bheeshma, he will never take sides between the Pandavas and the Kauravas. It seems to me that deep sorrow and tiredness, which have little to do with us, weigh on him. I have seen him so often, walking alone on the banks of the Ganga. I watched him from hiding. I could have sworn he was talking to himself or to the river and his eyes were full of tears. Once, when I was a child, I ran up to him and asked, ‘Why are you crying, Pitama?’

You know how fond he is of me. He took me onto his lap and ruffled my hair. ‘I am just so tired, little one. I am crying from tiredness.’

‘Then why don’t you rest, Pitama?’

He laughed aloud. ‘Rest! Ah, my child, I am afraid rest is not for me. No, not for a long time, I fear. Yet, that time will also come, the time for rest; and then, I shall be well after that.’

He gave me another of his rare smiles, set me down and told me to run along and play.

Pitama’s heart is full of a sorrow beyond all our paltry concerns. When the Pandavas first came to Hastina, Bheema was a bully. Bheeshma never said a word to him. Later, I tried to kill Bheema a few times.” Dhritarashtra gasped. His son continued coolly, “I am certain that in good time Pitama knew this. But not once did he mention it.”

Duryodhana drew a deep breath. “Now for the other powerful men in the sabha. Being jealous of Arjuna, Aswatthama is my friend. He will stand with me and so Drona will never oppose me. Not because he agrees with me, or because he does not love Arjuna better than me, but because he loves Aswatthama so much. Acharya Kripa is Aswatthama’s uncle and he will not go against Bheeshma and Drona.