The Thirteenth Day (18 page)

I stumbled into my chariot and he returned to his. In the past few moments, our forces had been able to counter the Trigartas. I heard an incomprehensible chanting from the back that grew louder.

Ghatotkacha and his heathens jogged into the Trigarta swarm with their spears at the ready and were swallowed almost instantly. Their chanting was still heard, less emphatically, over the twang of metal.

I took out my sword and a round shield and ran into the fray ignoring the frantic calls of my charioteer.

A spear lunged in my direction, which I avoided; I then cut its shaft. I rammed my shield into a face and cut another open. Someone jumped on my back and I whirled around to get him off. Another tried to run me through with his sword, which I stepped away from. The man on my back tried to wrap his arm around my neck to choke me. I bit into it. The hair tickled my tongue roughly; I released my bite to take a bigger mouthful of his hand and swung wildly. He catapulted off me and a bit of his skin tore of his hand into my mouth. I spat out his skin and walked over to him as he tried to stand and plunged my sword deep into his neck and sliced his jugular.

I stood over his carcass, trying to find my breath when something sharp pierced me in the back. A second shiver of pain ran through my shoulder. I turned and saw an archer on a stationary chariot draw his bow. He fired and missed his third shot.

My turn.

I sprinted towards him. His chariot started moving away from me. I threw my shield like a discus and it struck him hard on the shin. As he bent over, I took two giant steps onto the platform of his moving chariot and speared him through with my sword. His driver tried to escape, but I caught him by the back of his neck and yanking him back, slit his neck slowly while he struggled.

More Trigartas came up from behind. A platoon of fifteen odd approached me in a crescent, cautiously. That pleased me.

I stepped off and prepared to meet them in the traditional style, with my sword parallel to the ground and the palm of my left hand open. They circled around me, cordoning me off. There was none of the mindless fury of the beginning of the day, just a cold practicality guarding their motions as they stalked me.

I swiped tentatively at a mace fighter on my left who backed away. From my right, a sword cut at me. I dodged and took a step back, almost into a spear a man was holding behind me. I turned around to face him. He rolled his spear in his hand and shoved it at my shoulder. I bent and thrust my sword towards his groin. He backed away like a crab and warily lowered his stance. I stood my position and waited for the next attack.

A plume of dust blew through our little circle. I looked up and saw Father in his white chariot flexing his bow.

I cried out for him to stop, ‘No, wait!’

It was too late. In moments, his arrows cut down half the cordon that surrounded me. I turned around and saw the rest of the cordon lying prone with arrows probing their bodies. A group of chariots followed him past me into the Trigartas behind me, scattering them away like flowers. I watched, increasingly annoyed with his success.

Sumitra came up from behind me in my chariot.

‘There you are, master. Just look at your father!’

I glared at him and he fell silent.

‘Follow him. No, overtake him.’

I
had taken only two steps towards Guruji when the earth began to shiver under my feet.

Eight chariots skidded into our midst.

Bhima, Satyaki, Nakula, Drupada, old Virata, Shikhandi, Yudhamanyu and Uttamaujas. They faced Guruji in a neat line. Foot soldiers ran past me and filled in the gaps between them.

I quietly got back on the chariot hoping no one had seen me, and told my charioteer to join the eight. I pulled up beside them, in the extreme right corner and waited for events to unfold.

For a few moments, a tense silence filled the air between them. Bhima reached for an arrow in his quiver and Guruji fired at him before he could pick one out. Bhima ducked and swayed, and almost instantly, seven arrows flew at Guruji. Two struck him in the chest and he stumbled back.

My voice was stuck in my throat. It didn’t seem right for Guruji to be killed, no, hunted down like this, like an animal in the wilderness, instead of perishing honourably in single combat. But nine against one was probably the best chance we’d ever have with Guruji.

I was too busy watching the spectacle to remember to lift my bow. But every one of the eight had their bows stretched, waiting for a clean shot. Guruji tottered on his chariot and supported himself by holding its sides. The arrows had hit deep. He would be bleeding inside the armour.

And then, a volley of arrows came from behind him.

A line of elephants charged past him, trampling towards us. We abandoned Guruji and scattered while they formed a cordon around him.

I caught up with Bhima a little ahead. He wheeled around back towards the enemy and Nakula, Shikhandi and the rest of them clustered around us.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be up front?’

I don’t know why I said that. In a day full of cock-ups, this seemed the oddest one of all.

Bhima looked at me with an impossible combination of pity, disgust and scorn, and replied like it was the most obvious deduction in the world, ‘I was called back.’

I nodded.

‘What about Arjuna?’

‘Still in front. Fighting Trigartas. Giving them hell.’

Bhima turned his attention to the rest of the chariots.

‘Right, form an arrowhead and let’s get these bastards. I’m the tip.’

The rest of us obeyed dutifully, unmindful of his relative lack of seniority compared to Virata, or in fact, me.

Bhima placed his chariot in front, and the rest of us formed behind him. Satyaki, Nakula, Virata and I formed one wing and Drupada, Shikhandi, and the Panchala princes became the other. We approached the Kauravas, who had returned to a formation with Drona in the centre flanked by Radheya and his Anga chariots on the left and Suyodhana and his elephants on the right.

Suyodhana saw me, and was about to sound a charge when a lucky javelin caught his mahout in the chest. Suyodhana jumped out of his seat and took the place of the unfortunate mahout and tried to steady the rudderless elephant. I lifted a javelin and took careful aim. I could kill Suyodhana if I threw it straight. That would end the war, perhaps? Or was that too much to ask? Bhima had sworn to kill all of Dhritrashtra’s sons, but he wouldn’t mind, as long as Suyodhana’s killer stayed within the family.

This was
my
moment. This would be the story that would be sung about me by bards for the next hundred generations.

My hand trembled a little and I clenched the javelin tighter. It had an iron head with an extended tip reinforced with bronze. With the right amount of force, it could cut through a tree. I had only a few of these, and used them cautiously, often retrieving them after a kill.

Suyodhana was still struggling with his elephant. His legs were around the beast’s neck and he was massaging the top of its head vigorously. I closed my left eye, took the Lord’s name, and let the javelin fly. It arced beautifully straightening out exactly as I had seen it in my mind. It dived into Suyodhana with all the strength of my arm, and the hate of my family behind it.

My
moment.

The stupid beast reared and the javelin crashed straight through its eye.

I cursed my bad luck and nearly swore. Everything was perfect about that throw except my karma.

The beast bellowed and swung its head violently, trying to dislodge the javelin. It tottered as if drunk and turned on the Kauravas, thundering through their ranks, shrieking. Suyodhana barrelled to the side and nearly fell off, but caught the beast’s helmet strap and held on grimly for dear life.

I prayed that he fall and would be caught under the beast, and I would be able to claim the kill, but somehow he climbed back on top even as the beast shook its head and trampled around like a sulking child. An infantry troop of long spearmen surrounded it and jabbed at it. The beast stopped as the sharp bronze tips pinched its flesh.

It backed away a few steps and roared at them, then picked up a nearby chariot that was lying abandoned in the vicinity and used it like a broom to sweep away its attackers.

I looked at Bhima whose mouth was open as wide as his eyes. Guruji and Radheya were shouting instructions to Suyodhana, even as the elephant’s manic howls drowned their voices.

I saw Suyodhana bring out a chisel-blade and hammer from the mahout seat. Standard equipment kept by all mahouts in case they lost control of their elephants. He fixed the chisel’s point above the elephant’s neck at the base of its spine where he sat and rammed it down hard with the hammer. The elephant’s neck twisted and the beast lumbered and crashed into the earth. It writhed on the ground for a few moments even as the soldiers closed in and hacked it with their axes and spears. It mewled piteously as its spirit left its mangled frame.

Suyodhana stood perched on the ruins of the elephant and raised the hammer in his hand. A ragged cheer broke from the Kauravas.

‘Before they form. Now,’ I heard Bhima shout.

Before I had time to grip a spear and point it in the right direction, my chariot was already charging into the Kaurava ranks, a few steps behind Bhima, who was already swinging his mace into unsuspecting Kauravas. For a change, he had chosen to fight from the chariot. I followed him, picking off a soldier with a well-aimed javelin, and then nearly got my head caved in by an arrow.

I looked in the direction of the missile and was surprised to see Suyodhana. That he would attack me, try to maim me in his effort to take me alive was not in doubt. But with a bow? As an archer he only ranked marginally lower than one person in the whole of Kurukshetra.

I turned around to see the person in question slinging a quiver around his neck and bending his bow to make it supple.

Bhima.

Suyodhana fired at me again. He had aimed the shot at my chest but succeeded in sending it straight over my head. I lifted a javelin to heave towards him. Bhima’s chariot raced across my path and he grunted ‘Mine!’ Simultaneously, another arrow flew past me and sank into a fallen chariot a few hundred steps away.

Bhima drew his bowstring and snapped an arrow wide off Suyodhana, who countered with an arrow that flew a good distance above Bhima’s chariot. Bhima responded and nearly grazed Suyodhana’s chariot wheel.

Satyaki and Nakula caught up with me, followed by reinforcements, and we started firing into the disoriented Kauravas who began to retreat.

Suyodhana and Bhima hadn’t been able to hit each other. Two Maharathis using their bows like untrained novices. Every arrow flew unerringly wide, damaging nothing but bloody soil and battlefield debris.

I was about to enter the fray and end Suyodhana’s life myself when an arrow that was probably aimed at Suyodhana’s head flew high and cut his battle standard. The flag tumbled down and draped around one of his black horses that neighed with fright. Emboldened, Bhima fired another one. This time, the arrow smashed Suyodhana’s bow clean out of his hand.

I don’t know who was more surprised, Suyodhana, who stared at his bow lying in the dust broken in two pieces, or Bhima, who stared at his own disbelievingly. To cut a bow without injuring the bowman is considered a great feat for an archer. Bhima had just joined the ranks of Grandsire, Arjuna, Guru Drona and Parashurama.

I would never hear the end of it.

Bhima aimed another one. He pulled back the string with a flourish and let it go. To his credit, Suyodhana stood still in his chariot and looked at Bhima without flinching, as he waited for the arrow to hit him, which it never did. The arrow soared high above Suyodhana and was lost.

Suyodhana laughed at Bhima’s effort and shouted over the distance between them, ‘If your wife could see you now, she’d switch sides! When you write her tonight, tell her she’s always welcome here and Suyodhana sends his love!’ He then turned his chariot around and joined the Kauravas as they fell back. Bhima looked at his retreating form and threw down his bow in disgust and picked up his mace.

I went over to him and got on his chariot.

‘You know he does that purposely to upset you. He wants you to do something stupid.’

He was shaking with rage. ‘I’ll tear his head off his neck! His tongue out of his face! Bastard!’

We all chose different ways to deal with the loss of our dignity after our humiliation at the sabha. On some level, Arjuna, Nakula, Sahadeva and I had accepted it, and looked towards regaining our kingdom. Our way of avenging our humiliation would be to make Indraprastha the most powerful kingdom in Bharatvarsha. We had learned to live with the taunts. Indeed, deflect them at times with wit.

Thirteen years on, Bhima was the only one who would still physically hurt anyone who dared even suggest anything about Draupadi. He had felt personally responsible for her dignity ever since, and would go to absurd lengths to prove it.

Dignity—it is behind every war fought on the battlefield, the sabha, the playground, the bedroom and the deathbed. We construct an identity around it and defend it till we die. We protect it even when we know we can be better off without it.