The Thirteenth Day (26 page)

B
ali died quickly. The arrow went through his skull and ended his time in the world without much fuss. His killer had shot well. But I was still going to avenge Bali. I called out to the warrior, who couldn’t have been much older than me. His standard was yellow with a coiled viper in the rising sun. It turned gracefully towards me as our chariots faced each other.

He fired first. Two arrows back to back, almost parallel in their path. I tried to predict their line and twisted to my side. One of them grazed me on the left arm but it didn’t go too deep. I turned, drawing an arrow of my own to fire.

An arrow slammed me in the chest and I landed heavily on the floor. The anxious face of Sumitra peered at me from above the chariot rim.

It was one of those days.

The arrow had penetrated my armour, but barely nicked my chest. I broke it off and rolled my eyes at Sumitra, who smiled.

I got up, arrow drawn and fired it straight at the enemy. He twisted to avoid my arrow. I followed his motion and as he drew another one, I aimed at the area between the base of his throat and his shoulders and fired.

The arrow went true, and before he could react, it had ripped into his throat. He coughed blood and made a horrible braying noise that didn’t sound human. He tried removing the arrow, but it was barbed and stuck tight to his skin. He walked around his chariot and sank to his knees, gasping, almost choking in pain, searching for someone to help him.

For the first time in the day, I felt remorse. I took out an arrow and aimed carefully, even as my hands trembled slighly with guilt. The arrow with a sharp crescent head hit him a little above the barbed one and decapitated him. His body folded to the ground and I said a prayer for forgiveness.

You can’t spend too much time thinking about the dead on a battlefield. Or waste your time fighting young, unknown warriors.

I turned around to look for Radheya.

I
watched as Laxman fell. It took all the strength I had not to surrender to my emotions and run out to help him.

I felt tired and stood in my chariot, not knowing what to do, hoping that circumstances would shake me into action. A chariot stopped to my left. It was Suyodhana. His face was pale. I didn’t know what I could say to him. I might have started crying myself. I got off my chariot, walked to his, held him in my arms and put his head on my shoulder.

He pushed me and turned his face away.

Drona’s chariot stopped next to ours.

‘They are already in the sixth layer. We have to end this. Jayadratha will not last much longer.’

Suyodhana looked up, his face still pale, his arms shaking. He choked out something that none of us could understand.

He was in no condition to continue. I spoke to Drona, ‘What do you suggest?’

‘We gang up on him. You, me, Kritavarma, Ashwatthama and anyone else we can get. We surround him and use our bows.’

I was silent. It was a good idea. But it wasn’t right—killing the boy as if it were a streetside brawl. Besides, killing anyone like that would not be considered honourable by the kings of Bharatvarsha. It was an unspoken rule that warriors of the nobility had to duel singly.

And this was no ordinary noble. This was the son of Arjuna. Humiliating him with a death that was better left for pigs in a hunt would have consequences. And there was Yudhishthira. Would he still accept me as his brother and put me on the throne after I had butchered his nephew?

My nephew.

Suyodhana pressed his eyes into his palms.

I made a decision.

‘Tell Jayadratha to keep the line secure. Not even Yudhishthira can be allowed in.’

A
fter Bhima fell, Dhristadyumna had attacked Jayadratha several times with no great success. The line still held firm. I could make out some commotion inside the vyuha. The men were still fighting. Maybe Abhimanyu was alive.

We had become mechanical in our movements. Make an attack, get beaten, pick ourselves up and repeat. I had failed in four attacks already. In the most recent one, a blunt javelin had hit me in the chest, throwing me face-first into the mud.

The mud tasted different. I wiped it off my eyes and saw the ground. A black layer of blood was spread over it, obscuring its identity completely.

I had sent the boy in, and now he was trapped because I couldn’t get past a king who wasn’t even a Maharathi. I would not be able to face Arjuna if something happened to his son. What would I tell him? I had to bring back Abhimanyu or none of us could return. Bhima had been badly wounded for his efforts. I could not do less.

I got back on the chariot and made straight for Jayadratha again. I lifted an iron-tipped javelin and took careful aim at his chest. He saw me coming and drew an arrow just as I released my weapon. It flew clean through the air and descended towards his chest. He lifted his bow to protect himself, jumping off the chariot at the same time. The javelin smashed his bow but missed him.

I lifted another javelin. A bronze this time, no irons were left, and aimed for Jayadratha. He was already on his chariot with another bow drawn.

He fired. I threw.

I didn’t see if my javelin hit, but his arrow took me on the chest. I fell off the chariot for the third time that day into the dark mud.

W
e didn’t say a word as we approached Abhimanyu. Drona would take him from the front, with Kritavarma and a Gandhara prince. I would attack him from behind, with Ashwatthama and an Atirathi called Brihatbala.

He had reached the centre, that boy, with enough chariots to still pose a threat. So much for the Chakravyuha’s promised invincibility.

Drona called him out, luring him away from the protective cordon of chariots that surrounded him and Abhimanyu took his chariot towards him, intent on a duel. This was our cue. We surrounded him.

He did not suspect us even for an instant.

He drew an arrow and placed it on his string. Behind him, I had already drawn my bow and before the boy could shoot, my arrow picked off his bow. I cursed. The arrow was meant to hit him on the shoulder. He looked back in genuine surprise and probably thought it was a mistake on my part.

My next arrow rid his mind of doubt. It got him in the left shoulder even as arrows from Ashwatthama and Brihatbala pierced him on either side. Meanwhile, Drona had killed his charioteer, and Kripa and Kritavarma had shot his horses.

Everyone drew their bows back and fired for a second time.

The boy really was invincible. He just stood on his chariot. There were arrows all over his breastplate. One was lodged in his helmet and another was even stuck in his thigh. Six arrows. They should have killed him, or at least knocked him down.

We watched as he bent into his chariot and took out a sword and round shield. I ordered four spearmen to go and finish the job so that we wouldn’t have to. All the same, everyone still stood with arrows drawn. The spearmen circled the boy as he cut the shafts of the arrows protruding from his chest with his sword. They attacked him.

One by one, the idiots.

I shouted at them to kill him together. Together! But that only confused them. In an instant, the boy had run his sword through one of them and smashed his shield into another’s face while the other two stood gaping. He turned to face them now. They stepped back hesitatingly. I couldn’t make out who outnumbered who. I screamed at them again, which jolted them into action. They charged at him together, but he stepped aside and cut one’s neck with a backstroke. The remaining soldier stood paralysed with fear, and the boy walked over to him calmly and slid his sword into his gullet.

This could not go on much longer. And for once, Drona and I had the same idea. My arrow hit the boy’s left hand that held the round shield, while Drona’s hit the right, severing two fingers. The sword slipped from his hand and he clutched the bleeding stumps of his finger but did not cry in pain, instead he sucked in air sharply, like a child who’s stubbed his toe.

Brihatbala and Ashwatthama’s arrows missed him while Kritavarma hit him twice in the back. He turned to face them. I drew again and got him in the back. He fell forward, near a broken chariot.

He lay there for a little while and we looked at each other, wondering whether it was safe to go and check if he was dead. I looked around for infantry to do the dirty work when Brihatbala swore. The boy was getting up. Five arrows flew at him at the same time. One found his shoulder. He didn’t even notice it as he leaned on the chariot, slowly trying to get up.

When death is close, dignity abandons you first, along with its toadies—restraint and poise. I’ve seen men use their nails and teeth to protect their hides.

What I saw that day was different.

The boy held on to his dignity, even as it probably howled to get out. He was composed and in full control of his senses. I could not bring myself to fire at him again. I looked at the others one by one. Their faces wore guilt.

He stood on shaky legs and nearly fell down against the chariot. I heard a cry from behind and looked. His troops were rallying and attempting a rescue. Ashwatthama and Brihatbala used it as an excuse to disengage, even though there were enough soldiers around us to keep the boy’s forces out.

I looked back and saw the boy with his hands around a chariot wheel lying on the ground. The wheel must have weighed more than a grown human being. And I watched as he got on his knees and hefted it onto his shoulders. He raised it high above his shoulders and walked towards me, his legs trembling with the effort.

For a moment, I didn’t know whether to kill him, or let him kill me.

He raised the chariot wheel higher and broke into a jog, then into a run. I fired two arrows at the wheel which tipped him over.

He crawled slowly, trying to get on his feet.

A boy walked past Drona’s chariot into our little circle of death and shame. It looked like Sushasana’s son, a boy not much older than Abhimanyu or Laxman, called Surmashana. He had a mace in his hand and walked quickly but silently behind Abhimanyu, who was on one knee. He lifted the mace, slowly, not attracting his attention.

Abhimanyu raised his head and looked at me. Surmashana swung the mace down, like an executioner, to the back of his head. Abhimanyu’s eyes rolled and he fell into the dust. Surmashana took a step back and lifted the mace again and brought it down on the fallen boy’s head again.

I thought of telling Surmashana to stop, but then remembered Laxman.

Surmashana continued smashing Abhimanyu’s skull till his body lay behind a red-grey mass of pulp.

Finally, a man ran in and snatched the mace from Surmashana.

It was Yuyutsu. He pushed Surmashana away and walked towards me shaking with anger.

‘Six men against one boy. Did you think this was fair?’

I didn’t answer him.

‘Did you ask him to surrender?’

‘He wouldn’t have.’

‘Did you ask him?’

‘No.’

‘The whole of Bharatvarsha will hear of this. Tomorrow, the bards will sing of our shame. We can’t even kill a boy with honour.’