THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (72 page)

Yudhishtira is trembling with the rage he has borne, so patiently, for thirteen years. Krishna says, “Then make him come out, Yudhishtira and kill him. Today, he must pay for everything.”

Yudhishtira comes to the edge of the lake and cries angrily, “How can you hide now, Suyodhana? Every kshatriya in Bharatavarsha has died for you. Your brothers are all dead, your uncle Shakuni is dead and you hide like a common coward. Where is your pride? Where is your honor? If you are a Kuru, come out and fight! Millions have died for you and here you are clinging to your life. Bheeshma lies dying, Drona is dead and your beloved sutaputra is gone. I had thought that if you are arrogant and envious, you are fearless too. Come out, cousin and fight like a kshatriya. If you kill us, you can still rule the world.”

A mocking laugh wafts out from the water. Duryodhana’s voice speaks to them. “You prate like a witless boy, Yudhishtira. How dare you think I fled the battle! I saw my brothers and my uncle die and I was dazed. I sat numbly on my horse, hardly aware of the world around me. The horse wandered away from Kurukshetra on his own and then he fell dead. I walked away from the beast, not knowing what I did or where I went. My body felt as if it was on fire and when I saw this lake, I thought I would cool my fevered limbs in it. You flatter yourself, cousin, to think I am hiding from you. As soon as I have rested, I will come out and we will fight. Meanwhile, you and your men must also be tired. You rest, as well and we will fight when we are fresh again.”

Yudhishtira is secretly pleased that his cousin is not, after all, afraid! Somehow, even he cannot bear to think of Duryodhana as being craven. The Pandava says, “We need no rest. We have been searching everywhere for you, come out and fight us.”

A pause, then, Duryodhana says, “Yudhishtira, I don’t want the kingdom any more. Those with whom I meant to share and enjoy it are all dead. My brothers are dead. My Karna is gone. The earth has lost her splendor. I will fight you; yes, I will surely fight you. But you can have the kingdom: it means nothing to me any more, it is just some barren ground. I make a gift of this lusterless earth to you, Yudhishtira; it is yours to rule. And I will put on tree-bark and deerskin and spend the rest of my days in the jungle, seeking my peace.”

Yudhishtira roars, “Dare you! What right have you over the kingdom any more, that you presume to give it to me? Even if it were yours to give, I would never take it from you as a gift, but win it in battle. No kshatriya would rule a land that his enemy has given him.

Yet, there was a time when all this kingdom was yours to give. You were lord of the earth, when your uncle and you conspired to banish us for thirteen years. We came back from our exile and asked you gently to give back what was ours. Then you were not so magnanimous. When Krishna came to you as our messenger, the answer you sent with him was that you would not give us enough land to set on the point of a needle! Now, suddenly, you are the soul of generosity. You have lost your mind, Duryodhana. How else would the king of all the world, who wouldn’t give his cousins five towns, be ready now to part with his entire kingdom? Cousin, you have no kingdom left to give.

Yet, you still have one thing to lose. You have your life, Duryodhana and it is for your life I have come. Our long enmity must end today, for only one of us can be king in Hastinapura. After all that has happened, I do not mean to let you escape with your life today. So come out and fight.”

Yudhishtira’s voice sounds very different, so hard now. “This enmity between us has lasted too long. You have hated us since the day we first came to Hastinapura from the jungle. One way or another, you have done your best to destroy us. Today, all that must end. I will see you dead today and send you to swarga where you do not deserve to go. Come out and fight!” roars Yudhishtira.

Duryodhana stiffens under the lake. No one has dared speak to him like this in years, not since he became master of the earth. He is also taken aback, because it is the gentle Yudhishtira who speaks so harshly. There is nothing for it but to come out and fight.

Crafty to the end, Duryodhana says, “I marvel at this! All of you are men of dharma and you want to fight me all together, when I have no chariot, or a single soldier left. I don’t even have a bow or sword, only my mace. I have no armor and I am wounded. But I am not afraid of any of you. I do not fear Satyaki, Dhrishtadyumna or even your Krishna. I will meet you all as the year does the seasons and I will kill you all. Yet it saddens me that you, who call yourselves kshatriyas, have banded together to murder a defenseless man. Remember that a man takes only dharma out of this world with him; and you forsake dharma by this cowardice.

But that is your concern, not mine. I am a kshatriya and a Kuru and I am ready to fight you all and send you to your fathers. If I die, I will be the happiest man, because I will be with my Karna again. But what do you know about Karna, or that he was the noblest man who ever lived? I will kill all of you first, then take my own life. Prepare to die, I am coming!”

With a swirling of the water, Duryodhana emerges from the lake. He rises from the Dwaipayana lake as the sun does from the sea. He is majestic. His chest is as broad as a hill, his arms are splendid and his mace is laid across his shoulder. His eyes burn darker than ever and despite themselves, the Pandavas find themselves quivering with admiration as he wades calmly out of the water to face them.

Yudhishtira smiles. “I am proud that my cousin isn’t a coward, but a true Kuru after all!”

Duryodhana gains the shore and rasps, “I will fight you one at a time. You are men of dharma, you know what the dharma of kshatriyas is.”

“Do you mean the same dharma you used to kill Abhimanyu?” retorts Yudhishtira. “It seems only when the law applies to you it is meant to be observed. But as you say, we are men of dharma. So, Duryodhana, choose any one of us and choose your weapon. If you win, you can rule the earth again.”

There is a ripple of dismay among the others at the foolhardy offer. But that is Yudhishtira: as soon as he sees Duryodhana come out so bravely from the water, the Pandava’s rage leaves him. The Kaurava is his young cousin, once more and deserves a fair chance. Duryodhana stands there like a tiger eyeing a herd of cattle.

With a tight smile, he says, “It seems we are almost friends again at this final hour. I accept your offer! For my weapon, I choose this mace. As for my opponent, it makes no difference which of you I fight first: one by one, I will kill you all. Come, I am ready.”

Yudhishtira actually glows to hear him, so dauntless. He says, “Then fight me first. I will kill you and send you to Devaloka, where you now deserve to go for your courage!”

Duryodhana stands before them, his body covered in wounds that have begun to bleed again. He is a mountain of sinister presence, cool and full of slow rage. A roar breaks from him at what Yudhishtira says, “Come then! I will fight any of you and send you all to hell. There is no one who can face me with a gada.”

He stands there, red-eyed, bristling and growling like a great wild beast.

SIX
THE TWO COUSINS 

Krishna takes Yudhishtira aside. The Dark One is trembling with rare fury. He lashes out at the Pan-dava, “I have never seen anyone as foolish as you! You dare challenge Duryodhana to a mace-fight? He will kill you before the fight even begins. It is no empty boast when he says no one can match him at the mace. For these thirteen years you were in exile, he practised every day, raining blows on an iron image of Bheema. Duryodhana’s mace blows are like thunder and lightning in Devaloka! Bheema is perhaps stronger than he is, but he has neither Duryodhana’s skill nor his long, hard practice.”

Krishna sighs. “This is turning into another game of dice. It seems you are determined you and your brothers will spend your lives in the jungle and Duryodhana will sit upon the throne of the world. Listen to me, if there is any of you who might be able to face Duryodhana it is only Bheema. And not even he can beat the Kaurava in a fair fight with maces. Oh, Yudhishtira, I despair for you and your dharma. Dharma is not meant to be carried to such insane lengths. After millions of men have died and the world is almost yours, you mean to give it all back with your foolishness!”

Krishna’s lips are pale with annoyance. Bheema says, “I will fight Duryodhana. More than any of us, he hates me. But I am stronger than he is and my mace is more powerful than his. I will kill him today, Krishna, nothing will stop me.”

Bheema speaks with such fervor that Krishna takes the big Pandava’s hand and cries, “Yes! You will kill him today, Bheema and only you can. You have killed the other ninety-nine Kauravas and you will kill Duryodhana as well. You must keep your oath. As much as your mace, let the anger of thirteen years be your weapon. Kill your cousin and lay the world at your brother’s feet. But be careful, Bheema, never for a moment think he will be easy to kill. There is no mace-fighter like Duryodhana; he is strong as a mountain and quick as a thought.”

Duryodhana stands growling still, ready for the last battle. He is determined to Salvage some honor from it for the rout on Kurukshetra. Bheema comes up to him and says, “I will fight you, Duryodhana and before we begin I want you to think back on everything you have made us suffer. Remember Varanavrata, the game of dice, how Dusasana dragged Panchali into the sabha in Hasti-napura. Why, remember Kurukshetra, where the very race of kshatriyas has been destroyed. Bheeshma lies dying, Drona lies dead and the sutaputra graces the field, bright as a sun even in death. Our uncle Shalya lies there and your own brothers, glowing like embers of a great fire put out. Not only the kshatriyas, but dharma has perished on Kurukshetra; sishyas have killed gurus, uncles have killed nephews and cousins their cousins. We have cut down our Pitama on Kurukshetra and all this for your vanity.

The time has come to pay, Duryodhana. I am going to have revenge on you for every sin you ever committed. I am going to kill you.” Bheema’s voice is frightening, though he speaks so quietly.

Duryodhana listens to him in contempt, a brow arched, a sneer on his lips. The Kaurava laughs, “I never knew you were so eloquent, Bheema! I myself prefer deeds to words. How many years I have waited to kill you. I am pleased that you are man enough to fight, rather than letting one of your brothers be killed first. Don’t you see my mace like a cliff of Himavat? You will die, cousin: no one earth can fight me with a mace. Why, if the fight is fair, I think I could beat Indra. But of you five, certainly you are the most worthy adversary. After me, there was Shalya, until he died; and then there is you. Of course, my master Balarama is greater than any of us. It was he that said I am better than the rest of you put together. I am ready, Bheema. Let us begin.”

He speaks so boldly it would hardly seem that he stands alone against the others. Smiling at his cousin’s invincible arrogance, Yudhishtira brings him some armor and a crown to contain his long hair. Duryodhana takes these graciously. He has never hated Yudhsihtira; he even admires his noble nature, thinking that here is a worthy brother to his Karna. He had only fought Yudhishtira for kingdom, the wealth and power it brought. Bheema he has always loathed.

Duryodhana dons the golden mail. He sets the shining crown firmly on his head. And he is truly splendid: every inch a kshatriya and a king, glowing by the last rays of the setting sun as if his body was bathed in blood.

Bheema steps forward, mace in hand and the antagonists begin to circle each other warily. Before the first blow can be struck, they hear a conch and the approach of a chariot through the trees. They stop and turn to see their master, Balarama, arrive.

Krishna’s brother comes from a pilgrimage
¹
, which had taken him from Prabhasa to the source of the Saraswati, to all the tirthas along the Ganga and the Yamuna, to the Naimisa vana, down to the Sarayu, to Prayaga, on to bathe in the Gomati, to the Gandaki, to Gaya where he worshipped his ancestors, to Mount Mahendra, to bathe in the seven streams of the Godavari, to the Vena, the Pampa and the river Bhima, to the Venkata mountain, to Kanchi, to Kamakoti, to bathe in the Kaveri, to Srirangam, Kanyakumari, the Panchaprana lake, to Kerala, Siva’s Gokarna, Uma’s island shrine, to the Dandaka vana and from there to the Narmada and back again to Prabhasa from where he set out. On his way back, he met Narada who told him of the gada-yuddha his sishyas were about to fight, to the death of one of them. Duryodhana, of course, was the Yadava’s favorite and the guru wanted to be present when the duel was fought.

Balarama arrives on the banks of the Dwaipayana lake. Krishna and the Pandavas greet him warmly. Duryodhana prostrates himself at his master’s feet; he does not feel alone any more.

Balarama says, “I have heard Samantapanchaka is a most holy place upon the earth. It is near here. Let the gada-yuddha be fought there, for anyone who dies in Samantapanchaka goes straight to swarga.”

Yudhishtira agrees and they set out for Samantapanchaka. It is such a spectacle: those kshatriyas moving through the trees like a pride of lions. Duryodhana saunters along at his ease with his cousins, his enemies, his gait regal, his mace across his shoulder. Krishna walks with Balarama, asking him about his tirtha-yatra and Satyaki brings up the rear, a few paces behind them.

SEVEN
AT SAMANTAPANCHAKA 

At Samantapanchaka, the eternal northern altar of Brahma, the two titans are ready for battle. Both are Balarama’s disciples, they are cousins and tigers of the royal House of Kuru. Entirely at his ease, Duryodhana says to Yudhishtira, “The rest of you sit around us and watch the gada-yuddha. May those that love us enjoy our duel!”