THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (28 page)

The golden armor he had been born with, which was part of his very skin, shone dully beneath his pale silk shirt. The crowd fell quiet. Karna did not so much as glance at Draupadi and her blood ran cold. Unlike all the others, he did not mount the platform straightaway. Truly like a stalking feline, he walked round and round the stage, studying the spinning fish from every side and angle.

Five princes, disguised as brahmanas, shivered as they watched Karna. Sweat broke out on their bodies. They knew he was the one who could find the target. Karna’s concentration was elemental. Even blue Krishna was tense, looking on with anxiety in his eyes. The Avatara knew this archer was the only real danger.

Leisurely, Karna padded around the bow, the water and the fish, many times, unraveling the riddle of the revolving target. At last, he seemed satisfied and a smile touched his lips. Now he gave Draupadi a searing look, as if she were already his. She knew this was not just arrogance but the confidence of an immaculate archer. She felt as if a demon had embraced her.

Karna climbed the dais and paused at the foot of the bow. He turned his face to the sky, where the sun was at his zenith. That warrior seemed to pray. Then a light touched his graceful body and he picked up the Kindhura in his left hand.

Dhrishtadyumna and Draupadi stood at the foot of the dais, not five paces from Karna as he fitted the first arrow to the string. Draupadi’s heart was in her mouth, as he began to draw the bowstring to his ear. He bent to peer into the water at his feet. Above him, the fish glittered strangely now and seemed brighter than ever: as if the sun lit it up for this archer. It even seemed the fish did not spin any more but hung still, grown big as a whale, so a child could shoot it.

Draupadi felt as if someone was choking her. She was certain Karna would bring the fish down. She wanted to scream, to flee. The string was drawn back now, the arrow aimed at the fish’s eye.

Draupadi heard a voice from the crowd. Perhaps it was the blue Yadava’s voice, but she could not be sure. Everything was a whirl, her life spun round with the wretched fish. The voice was saying, inside her head, “How can a princess like you marry a sutaputra?”

A moment before Karna shot his arrow, Draupadi cried to Dhrishtadyumna, “I will not marry a suta!”

Karna lurched as if someone had struck him; still, his arrow shaved the fish. Now his poise was shattered and he flashed Draupadi a look of untold hatred. His hands shook and his assurance was in shreds.

A murmur hummed through the crowd when Karna missed his mark. The people had been sure he would strike the target. Only Dhrishtadyumna and Karna heard what Draupadi said. Karna found the bow in his hands had grown intolerably heavy. It was all he could manage to shoot the next four arrows, but he had no hope of finding his mark. The Pandavas breathed again. So did dark Krishna, who a moment earlier had his eyes shut and seemed to Balarama to have been plunged in dhyana, as if he was sending his very thoughts out to someone.

Karna climbed down, burning with the insult. Kuru voices were raised in anger, “This target is impossible. We have been brought here to be made fools of.”

“If Karna can’t shoot the fish, no archer on earth can.”

The kings who had not yet tried the bow now refused to mount the dais. Silence fell on the arena. What would become of Draupadi? Drupada could not hold another swayamvara with honor, nor could he make the archer’s test simpler. Would Draupadi remain unmarried and a virgin? Such beauty wasted!

Then, like a flame from ashes, Arjuna stood up in the enclosure of the brahmanas. Krishna nudged Balarama. Arjuna began to walk toward the dais; a murmur rose among the brahmana elders.

“This is madness. The best kshatriyas in Bharatavarsha have failed to shoot the fish and this brahmana stripling dares approach the bow.”

“He will bring ridicule on us all.”

“Stop him.”

To some others, the brahmana youth, his hair tangled in wild strands of jata, his face covered entirely in a thick beard and white ash, seemed radiant and strong. They cried, “He looks determined. Let him have his chance.”

“There is no shame in failing here. Not even Karna of Anga has succeeded.”

“He seems a poised young man.”

“He seems powerful, let him try. He may cover us all in glory!”

The elders saw there was little to be lost and everything to gain. Sensing uncommon strength in the dark brahmana, they now said, “Let him have a turn, if it is allowed.”

Arjuna walked up to Dhrishtadyumna and said quietly, “It seems the target is beyond the kshatriyas here. Is a brahmana allowed to shoot at the matsya yantra?”

The kshatriyas squirmed, though not for a moment did anyone imagine the young brahmana could bring down the spinning fish, when the likes of Jarasandha and Karna had failed. Some Kaurava princes cried mockingly, “Let the fool try. He doesn’t know what a great bow is.”

“Let him lift it first.”

Dhrishtadyumna raised his hand for silence. He said to Arjuna, “A brahmana may certainly try to shoot the target. Anyone may try, be he a brahmana, a kshatriya, a vaishya or even a sudra. And you have my word, the man who brings down the fish will have my sister for his wife.”

Of course, the reason for this was that Drupada had no idea in what guise Arjuna would come to the swayamvara. Arjuna bowed to Dhrishtadyumna. He turned to Draupadi and bowed to her; suddenly, she felt pierced, ah sweetly, by a shaft of love. She felt all her panic, that one of the kshatriyas may actually succeed, melt away when she looked into this young man’s eyes. Draupadi felt fate move in her in a tide; she felt she already belonged to the brahmana. She began to pray that, whoever he was, he should not miss the fish. She did not care any more if Arjuna came to claim her. All she wanted, why, all she had been born for was this dark brahmana.

More graceful than Karna, Arjuna mounted the platform. He made a pradakshina, walking around the Kindhura. The only one so far to do this, he folded his hands to the ayudha. To the crowd’s amazement, the young brahmana prostrated before it: as if he was worshipping his destiny.

Krishna leaned forward, his hand tight on Balarama’s arm. Draupadi’s heart fluttered madly again; but now every beat a prayer that the brahmana would not fail. Even Dhrishtadyumna found himself hoping, inexplicably, that the dark youth would succeed.

Arjuna rose again. He stepped up to the bow and lifted it. He strung it and still he was completely calm. Some rowdy kshatriyas, who had been drinking in the morning, had clapped and booed when Arjuna prostrated himself. They fell silent at the ease with which he picked up the bow and strung it. And the silence turned deafening when, hardly pausing to aim in the water, the young brahmana shot the five silver arrows in a blur: the shafts flashing up, one after the other, all in a single moment.

The fish fell, pierced along its length by five arrows. Into perfect silence fell a fragrant rain of barely tangible flowers, from Devaloka; there was subtle music in the sky. Only Krishna heard it or saw the fine petal-shower, for the commotion that erupted in the stadium, especially from the frenzied brahmanas.

Drupada on his throne saw what had happened. He heard the deep bass of conches, the thunder of the drums of Panchala, as Draupadi, graceful as a black swan on water, glided up to Arjuna and draped her garland around his neck.

The crowd began to sing and dance, as the Pandava took his bride’s hand and came down the platform steps. They were like Indra and Shachi, like Agni and Svaha, Vishnu and Lakshmi, Surya with Usha, like Kama and Rati, Siva with Uma, like Rama with Seetha, Nala and Damayanti.

Drupada was excited. But he was not sure the young brahmana was Arjuna; though he was brilliant, all right and a better archer than Karna today. Dhrishtadyumna did not know who the young stranger was. As for Draupadi, she did not care: whoever he was, from now he was the lord of her heart and her life.

FORTY-NINE
 

‘SHARE THE ALMS YOU’VE BROUGHT’
 

But now, an uproar broke out among some of the humiliated kshatriyas: Sishupala and Duryodhana,

Karna and the Kauravas.

“Drupada has slighted us! The swayamvara is not for brahmanas.”

“If no kshatriya could shoot the matsya yantra, Draupadi should have killed herself.”

“It must never happen again. We must make an example of this wretched swayamvara.”

Those royal kshatriyas were shouting now and Drupada grew afraid. One of the Kauravas cast a blazing look at the Panchala king and yelled, “We can’t kill a brahmana. So let us kill Drupada and his son!”

“Let us throw Draupadi into the agni kunda.”

Roaring, the furious kshatriyas rushed at their hosts. The young brahmana stood in their way. He lifted the Kindhura and strung it. Another brahmana appeared at his side. He was a giant, strangely familiar; but both their faces were covered by thick beards and ashes and their hair matted in jata. Besides, they could not be who they might have been; the Pandavas were dead.

Bheema pulled up a tree as if it were a tender plant and stood, huge and menacing, beside Arjuna. Yudhishtira, Nakula and Sahadeva, who had set out toward the carpenter’s house to tell Kunti the news, heard the kshatriyas roaring and ran back. Now five brahmanas faced the angry kings.

Perhaps, Duryodhana was suspicious for a moment: how uncannily familiar these brazen priests looked. But the Pandavas had died in the house of lac; their remains had been recovered and floated down the Ganga. Next moment, outraged by the insults of the kshatriyas and emboldened by the five that dared confront the kings, all the brahmanas in the stadium surged forward in a throng, brandishing their staffs and kamandalus.

“We are with you, brothers!” they cried. “We will teach these arrogant kshatriyas a lesson today.”

“You are not alone! Every man of us will fight beside you!”

Smiling, Arjuna said to them, “Thank you, brothers. But my friends and I are more than a match for these; don’t worry, our brahmana honor will be safe.”

He asked them to move back. In a moment, with bowstrings twanging, a battle began. The five ‘brahmanas’ were indomitable and the crowd cheered their heroes lustily.

Arjuna’s arrows were like flaring thoughts, though he did not shoot to kill anyone. Her eyes bright, Draupadi stood beside him, clutching his deerskin. When Arjuna and his brothers had beaten back the kshatriyas’ first onrush, Karna came to join the fray. After years, Arjuna and he faced each other again. Now Karna did not know whom he fought; of course, neither dreamt they were brothers.

Arjuna had never forgotten the exhibition in Hastinapura; he was desperate to beat the king of Anga. Karna was keen to fight the brahmana who had brought down Drupada’s cunning fish. Yet, there was no malice in his heart, nor any real fervor to defeat the young brahmana. Karna knew that but for Draupadi’s vicious taunt he, too, would have found his mark. Indeed, he felt strange affection for the brahmana, never knowing who he was.

They fought fiercely, pressing each other hard. Arjuna was cool, knowing his adversary; and Karna grew more and more amazed with every arrow they exchanged. Exhilarated at discovering this youngster, excited that, like himself, the youth was not a kshatriya, Karna cried encouragement to him as they fought. “Well done! You take my breath away.”

His delighted laughter rang across the arena, though slowly he had to give ground to the youngster, who was perhaps a shade quicker than him. Still Karna was exultant, arrows flying from his fingers like light.

“Tell me who you really are, young man! Are you Vishnu himself, or at least Indra? For I am Karna and no archer on earth can match me except Arjuna; and he is dead. Who are you, young Brahmana?” roared Karna.

Two arrows like lightning scorched his face. “Are you my lord Bhargava? Are you my master?”

Arjuna called levelly across that arena of humming arrows, “I am not Bhargava, Indra or Vishnu. I am just a brahmana and I learnt archery from a brahmana. Let us fight seriously now, Karna, I say I am the better bowman.”

Just then Bheema lifted the gigantic Shalya high into the air and flung him down, shaking the ground. Shalya fainted. Bheema could have killed him if he chose, but Shalya was Madri’s brother, Nakula and Sahadeva’s uncle. All the other kings there, who had taken no part in the fighting, crowded round to watch.

When Shalya was beaten, Arjuna grew inspired. He severed Karna’s bowstring in a flash and the king of Anga stood defenseless before him. Bowing and knowing the young man would not kill him where he had just found a bride, Karna withdrew.

Meanwhile, the duel that amazed the Pandavas themselves was the one between Yudhishtira and Duryodhana. Their mild older brother had vanished and a fierce kshatriya stood in his place: one who remembered Varanasi well. Quickly, the Kaurava’s bow was broken in his hands and his arms lacerated by Yudhishtira’s arrows. Duryodhana fled.

Now the other kings began to mumble dangerously among themselves.

“Who can vanquish Karna except Arjuna?”

“Who can fling Shalya down but Bheema?”

“Let us discover who these brahmanas are. Let’s ask them their gotra and lineage.”

Krishna knew it was time to intervene. “The brahmana won Draupadi fairly. All of us heard him ask Dhrishtadyumna if a brahmana could try his skill.

Dhrishtadyumna said, ‘Anyone can try his skill: a brahmana, a kshatriya, a vaishya or a sudra. And if he brings down the fish, he shall have Draupadi for his wife.’

No kshatriya raised his voice to object; we were so sure a brahmana could never bring the fish down. To seek battle with the stranger now does not become noble men as we are meant to be.”

Not only because of the truth of what Krishna said, but also because they knew what implacable warriors the five brahmanas were, the kshatriyas retired. All the brahmanas celebrated, thronging around their young heroes.

Finally, breaking away from the crowd as they went through the streets of Kampilya, the Pandavas and Draupadi arrived at the carpenter’s house. Kunti sat alone inside, anxiety having its way with her. Her mother’s instinct warned her that her sons were embroiled in violence of some kind. She was imagining all sorts of terrible things.

Then she heard footsteps and Yudhishtira called cheerfully, “Mother, come and look at the bhiksha we’ve brought today.”

Without even looking through the open door, Kunti called back in relief, “In the name of God, all of you must share the alms you’ve brought equally among yourselves. And enjoy it.”

The brothers were shocked. Only then, did their mother rise and come out. When she saw Draupadi, the day’s alms, she gave a soft cry. Then she saw how unbelievably beautiful the young woman was and she broke into a smile.

Yudhishtira said, “Mother, Arjuna won the princess Draupadi at the swayamvara. She is the bhiksha I meant.”

Ignoring this for the moment, Kunti came forward and took Draupadi in her arms. “I’ve always wanted a daughter and now I have one!”

Draupadi, her heart on song to hear who had won her, touched Kunti’s feet, “Mother.”

Later, Kunti took Yudhishtira aside. “My son, what have I done? I have never told a lie in my life. Yet, I said, ‘In the name of God, share the bhiksha you have brought equally among yourselves and enjoy it.’”

Yudhishtira had a strange look in his eye. But he said, “Don’t worry, mother, nothing will come of it.”

He quieted the wildness in his blood that threatened to overwhelm his reason, the wildness dark Draupadi ignited in him. Yudhishtira said to Arjuna, “You won her. Before this goes any further, take her hand and marry her.”

His other brothers were obviously uncomfortable, disturbed. Yudhishtira himself avoided looking at Draupadi, for the fire in his veins. Arjuna knew what went on in his brothers’ hearts. More, he saw how strangely Draupadi looked at them: he saw she wanted all five of them and she was desperately troubled.

That critical moment could have changed their lives. It could have torn them one from the other, if Arjuna had chosen to be selfish. But Arjuna said quietly, “Yudhishtira, what you say isn’t kshatriya dharma. You are the eldest; you must marry first. After you Bheema and then I and Nakula and Sahadeva last. Consider this and also what would be best for all of us.”

Yudhishtira was acutely aware of how his brothers stared at Draupadi and how she gazed back at each of them. Not just one, but all including himself! Yudhishtira decided that what his heart cried out for and the best course for them were the same. He glanced up at Kunti, who nodded slowly at him, reading his thoughts. The others never took their eyes off Draupadi.

Yudhishtira said, “Mother has already shown us the way. She is our guru and she said to share the princess equally among us. It is as if God spoke through her lips. If none of you objects, I see hers as being the truest way. It is obvious that all of us love Panchali. Let her not divide us, but bind us forever.”

Such relief broke out on his brothers’ tense faces and Kunti’s face as well. They laughed when they saw Draupadi also smiled. Just then, they heard a low cough at the door and, turning, saw two splendid kshatriyas standing there. One was Balarama, who had been Bheema’s master at the mace and the other, the fabulous Blue One, they had never seen before. He came smiling and easy among them and touched Kunti’s feet first, then Yudhishtira’s and Bheema’s, too.

“I am Vasudeva’s son Krishna,” said he.

It was an auspicious moment and his presence filled that dwelling and their hearts. Yudhishtira knew he was much more than what he said and breathed, “My Lord!”

Krishna’s black eyes shone at him. Moving quickly, he now embraced the cousin for whose sake he had most come, the one born on the same day as him. Krishna clasped Arjuna to him. In that moment, Arjuna knew his life had changed forever and more profoundly than by his winning Draupadi’s hand. The Lord of his destiny had walked in through the door and Arjuna knew this unmistakably. He was full of uncanny faith. Now he knew all their battles would be won and one day Yudhishtira would surely sit upon the throne of Hastinapura.

His eyes full of tender mockery, Krishna said brightly, “I am so happy to see my aunt Kunti at last. And my cousins alive, who are said to have died in Varanasi!”

Yudhishtira asked, “How did you know us, when you have never seen us before?”

Krishna smiled. “Even if it is hidden by ashes, fire glows. No one but the Pandavas could have done what you did today.” He was quickly grave. “But I mustn’t stay here any longer, in case I have been followed; and you must be careful not to be discovered for a while. I fear Duryodhana may already be suspicious. It is not yet time for you to show yourselves. You must wait until the kshatriyas have all left Kampilya.”

One by one, he embraced them again and, with a last dazzling smile, left with Balarama. Already Arjuna yearned to be with him again.

Meanwhile, Drupada was distraught. He had arranged the swayamvara just for Arjuna’s sake. Now a brahmana had won his precious daughter. What kind of life would she have with him? An unaccustomed one, anyway. The youth was noble, surely and such an archer! Yet, he was not Arjuna but a mendicant.

Drupada called his son Dhrishtadyumna, the only one he trusted implicitly.

“I was certain only Arjuna could win your sister’s hand. I should have never held the swayamvara. I am ruined, my jewel is flung on a dust heap.”

“Draupadi is my twin and she and I are as close as life and breath. I know in my very blood that fortune has befallen her. Let me find out more about these brahmanas.”

Dhrishtadyumna arrived unnoticed at the carpenter’s house. Quietly, he stood under a window at the back of the dwelling, listening to whatever he could hear from inside.

Toward dusk, four of the five brahmanas went out with their begging-bowls. Night was falling when they returned with food that they set before a striking woman who was obviously their mother. She now spoke to Draupadi, “My child, keep a portion for the Gods, which we can give to any brahmana who comes for alms. Of the rest, give half to our Bheema.”

Draupadi smiled at the young giant, who blushed fiercely. ‘At least she is smiling; she can’t be unhappy,’ thought her brother at the window.

The mother went on, “Divide the rest equally among the rest of us.”

Dhrishtadyumna stood watching as Draupadi divided the alms and then sat down herself to eat. She had never seen anything but opulence since the day she was born and now she seemed perfectly happy in one room with the five brahmanas and their mother. Why, she was radiant.

When the humble meal was over, the brahmanas spread beds of kusa grasses on the floor and settled down for the night. They lay side by side, their heads pointing east, while their mother lay above their heads and Draupadi at their feet, still blissful. Her avid brother could almost hear the sigh on her lips. After the momentous day, the two women fell asleep quickly. The young men lay awake for a while and what they said to each other in the dark brought a smile to Dhrishtadyumna’s face.

Those five ‘brahmanas’ spoke not of Vedas, yagnas and mantras, but of the devastras, the weapons of the Gods. And they spoke so expertly, that if there was any doubt left in Dhrishtadyumna’s mind who they were, it vanished. Leaving them to their quiet, knowing discussion, he melted back into the night and walked briskly back to his father’s palace, as a warm moon rose above the trees.