The Thirteenth Day (5 page)

There was Jayadratha, Suyodhana’s brother-in-law, the king of Sindhu. He was a major contributor to our armed forces with his cavalry troops and horses, but was no match to Bhishma in stature. The fact that he had been humiliated in a melee with the Pandavas before the Kurukshetra war would also have worked against him. Then there was Kritavarma, the general of the Narayani Guard—the best troops in our confederacy.

There was Shalya, an uncle of the Pandava twins Nakula and Sahadeva, who found it more economically beneficial to join our army, and Shakuni of Gandhara, uncle of the Kuru princes, spewer of venom, instigator of hate, and after Suyodhana, my greatest ally in the ranks. While all of them could stake a claim to the top job, I knew of just three people who stood a serious chance based on seniority—Drona, Bhagadatta and I.

Drona, the acharya, head guru of the Kuru family. He was a Brahmin schoolteacher who had found his calling in destroying armies. For years, he ran the best military college in Bharatvarsha at Hastinapura under the patronage of the Kurus. Its reputation was so illustrious that even his enemies sent their children to humbly prostrate themselves in the dust before him and learn at his feet. There was no one better qualified to run the army than him. Even Bhishma had said so, many times, to which Guru Drona replied by stroking the nest beneath his chin and protesting strongly, invoking Grandsire’s seniority and battle experience as contrary evidence. But behind that reluctance lay the simple knowledge that no man could unite this bickering mass of confederates better than Grandsire. Sketching out intricate battle plans and marshalling troops was just a part of the responsibility. Motivating the kings, most of whom had never been in anything more serious than cattle raids and border skirmishes, to come back every day and shed their blood for him; that was what made Grandsire the only man in Bharatvarsha fit to command its largest confederation of troops. But now, with the Terrible One gone, there really was no longer anyone better than Drona to take control of this army.

Unless one considered Bhagadatta.

The king of Pragjyotisha was the oldest man on the field of Kurukshetra and perhaps the only man to have unsheathed his sword as many times as Grandsire. Like Grandsire, the old king of Pragjyotisha was no senile dodderer. The Elephant King was what we called him. His akshauhini of elephant warriors had been used as shock troops in the initial days of the war and had caused much destruction among the Pandava front line. Varahamira told me that the elephants had evoked such fear in the Pandava camp that they had actually strung together a special division commanded by Bhima for the sole purpose of containing Bhagadatta’s rampaging beasts. Not one to stay at the back directing troop traffic, Bhagadatta swaggered across the field on his silver-bedecked elephant, Supritika, seeking out duels with the most renowned fighters in the Pandava army. To his credit, he had defeated many of them including the half-wit commander they called Dhristadyumna.

I liked the old man. He was a cheery boozer with any number of stories from pre-history and not one content to rest in the vanity of his past. After Bhishma, he was the most experienced campaigner in our camp. Unfortunately, he also displayed a reluctance to accept the mantle of leadership, preferring instead to go out and derive savage glee from wrecking the Pandava army. ‘They won’t promote me out of a fight,’ the bloodthirsty old tyrant had once told me. Of course, if too many kings insisted on his leadership, there would be little he could do, except take up the sceptre.

And then there was me, the man no one wanted to nominate for the role, but were grudgingly willing to accept if no one else was willing or able to take command. I had won over thirty battles and impressed my might upon five major kingdoms in Bharatvarsha. Arrow for arrow, I was the best chariot archer in the world, and the best independent commander of Chariot Corps. More significantly, I had defeated armies the size of the Pandava forces on a number of occasions in recent years, unlike Drona and Bhagadatta who had entered the battlefield rusty from the excesses of peaceful living. I knew how modern armies fought. I had fought in them, I had fought against them and that was an edge that neither Drona or the lord of Pragjyotisha could lay claim to. This was something all the allies knew, and more importantly, Suyodhana.

Finally, with characteristic impatience, Suyodhana declared, ‘It is evident to me that there are only two kings who will be able to lead this army.’

W
e took our places inside the council tent. Twelve cushioned couches, a small luxury permitted in these strenuous times, were arranged in a circle a little distance from one another. An attendant glided across the room with a tray carrying cold pomegranate juice and honeyed barley cakes, presenting them to the kings assembled. I suppose the only advantage of having only a handful of allies was the fact that there were fewer heads involved in making decisions. I could only imagine the chaos in the Kaurava camp tonight without Grandsire.

Early on, while congregating our forces at Upaplavya, in our ally King Virata’s kingdom of Matsya, we had decided to restrict the war council to include only twelve kings. While some of our minor allies grumbled about being left out of the decision-making body, the strength and overall experience of our war council allayed their concerns.

There was me and my brothers—Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva. As the prime beneficiaries of the conflict, it was only natural that all five of us be included.

The other members of the war council were Drupada, the king of Panchala and our father-in-law, his eldest child, the lady Shikhandi, who managed the Panchala troops, and Dhristadyumna, Drupada’s eldest after Shikhandi and the commander-in-chief of the entire army.

He was a curious one, my brother-in-law, a man of average height and build, soft-spoken and polite to a fault, regarding every question or comment placed at him with serious thought and a diffident smile, which, it seemed, took all the effort in the world to conjure. Yet, in matters of war, especially the theoretical and logistical aspects of it, he was exceedingly competent. At least that was what Arjuna thought, and in the minds of most, that was enough. It also helped that the numbers brought in by his father Drupada accounted for most of our original seven akshauhinis.

Apart from the Panchalas, there was King Virata, the ruler of the Matsya kingdom, the next largest contributor to our cause. A quiet, brooding kind of man given to occasional fits of violent temper. At seventy-odd years of age, Virata had the distinction of being the oldest soldier in our army and, as the joke went, had probably been forgotten by Yama, the God of Death. He was still able to lead from the front, though, and willing to prove it to anyone who thought otherwise.

Satyaki represented the Yadava confederacy who supplied troops to both sides of the field. A good soldier, if slightly unhinged. I never saw him upset or nervous on the battlefield. He seemed to treat the war like it was a game, chatting with his victims as he made to kill them, occasionally even letting them go, to Dhristadyumna’s annoyance.

Then there was Prince Chekitana of Chedi, the youngest of our council, he of the upper lip yet unwilling to yield hair. His father had committed to our cause on the condition that his son be given a place in the main council. The boy knew his place. He did not offer his point of view, and questioned strategy more as a student than as a stakeholder.

The twelfth and final member of our council was, in my mind, probably the most important—Krishna, a Yadava prince like Satyaki, and a cousin of ours. His cunning had saved thousands of men over the past ten days and resulted in the slaughter of over twice as many. But more importantly, his understanding of the frailty of the royal ego and ability to gently guide not one but many of them towards common ground made him invaluable. Whenever a council meeting threatened to disintegrate into chaos, it was it was to him that we’d look for clarity.

His slight but lithe figure and dark, almost blue complexion was a calming presence in our camp, lifting the morale of the troops ever so often. He was a fine warrior in his own right, a good bow and swordsman.

What really set him apart was his skill as a charioteer.

Krishna was like a god behind the reins. Twisting and turning his chariot through odd angles and narrow spaces, balancing it on one wheel and pirouetting, cutting through enemy ranks while avoiding their long spears and arrows. If Arjuna was the best archer on wheels it was because Krishna held the reins that gave them life.

Dhristadyumna began the meeting, ‘As you all know by now, we’ve, er…we’ve made our first real breakthrough of the war today.’

Drupada piped in, ‘Yes, well done, son; absolutely inspired leadership, putting young Shikhandi in front of Arjuna. Excellent planning.’ He looked around hoping to see similar acclaim issue forth from other members in the tent, most of whom smiled indulgently. Dhristadyumna winced and followed it up by blushing a deep crimson. Drupada played the proud parent much to his son’s deep, if often unexpressed, annoyance.

The plan had been Krishna’s, who sat admiring his feet, not taking credit and letting Drupada roll on with the bombast. I don’t think he actually cared. He just wanted the war over. He had noticed Bhishma’s reluctance to confront Shikhandi over the past ten days and had suggested the plan of using Shikhandi as a barrier behind whom Arjuna could fire safely at Bhishma.

My father-in-law hadn’t believed in it then. It was hard to argue with it now. Dhristadyumna, desperate for a plan, had actioned it.

He continued in his soft, cultured monotone, ‘With Bhishma out, they will probably hand over command to either Guru Drona or Bhagadatta. If our sources are to be believed, Radheya may also make his first appearance on the field.’

It wasn’t good news but the council seemed relaxed. For the past ten days we had fought in clenched expectation of his arrival. Now he was here, and the Kauravas had no cards left to play.

I looked at Arjuna and found everyone doing the same. Arjuna looked away uncomfortably. It was an unspoken agreement that Radheya, or Karna as he was more popularly known, would be his personal feud. Just as Suyodhana would be Bhima’s. Radheya’s ability with the bow had initially been compared to Grandsire’s and Guru Drona’s. The comparisons were now being made with Arjuna himself. A matter that Arjuna wanted to test, though he would never admit it.

Bhima scratched at his chin, ‘We can finally kill them all. Day’s turned out better than I thought. I’ll tell Draupadi.’

Draupadi…dear, darling Draupadi…the reason why this war was being fought in the first place, at least in the words of the bards these days. Beautiful, long-suffering Draupadi marrying the five of us, on the insistence of my mother Kunti and her father Drupada to strengthen our alliance; sad, indomitable Draupadi, shamed in a throne room at Hastinapura with the beast Sushasana pawing at her sari; angry, confused Draupadi staring at me across the sabha hall. And then not looking into my eyes again.

The memory of it makes me cringe. Not long after setting up our kingdom in Indraprastha, we, and our cousin Krishna, had been invited to Hastinapura by the Kauravas. The day had begun without incident, until the gambling began. Maybe it was the wine but I found myself betting away everything I owned, from iron mines to elephant brigades and finally even Indraprastha. No one believes me but I honestly thought that the game and the stakes were not to be taken seriously. I thought it was a cruel exercise disguised, as so many of these are, as a harmless tease that we had to endure as guests of the Kauravas. If I refused to play, it would look as if the ‘old stick in the mud’ was throwing a tantrum again, so I had to keep piling my bets higher to show my enthusiasm.

After I had ‘lost’ my kingdom, we started betting for people. Again, I believed it was completely harmless. Arjuna tells me I should have drawn the line there. But I tell him that it would have looked as if I was taking the game seriously. No, I had to keep up the charade as long as they did.

Shakuni, my opponent, beat me every time. I gambled away my brothers and finally even Draupadi. At this point I expected the game to end with a few jokes at my expense. The next thing I knew, Draupadi was being dragged out from her seat by Sushasana.

We were stunned. Suyodhana and Radheya were jeering that I had just lost my kingdom and family and everyone in the sabha was witness to that. My brothers huddled around me as some of the senior members of the sabha shook their heads in agreement and others in disapproval. It all became surreal.

Sushasana began pulling off Draupadi’s sari, claiming her as his slave, and I did not know how to react. Thankfully, Krishna intervened and pulled Draupadi out of Sushasana’s reach even as Bhima howled and went after him. The sabha rose and broke the two of them apart.

We were issued a formal apology, but the senior members of the Kuru council, including Bhishma and Guru Drona, ruled that since I had acted irresponsibly and made a bet and lost my kingdom, I didn’t deserve to rule it and sent me and my brothers into exile for thirteen years. It was all a ruse. We had been neatly manipulated and robbed of our kingdom to keep Grandsire’s precious peace.