The Puffin Mahabharata Read online

‘Anga,’ replied Karna, his golden skin flushed with anger and humiliation.

  ‘I appoint you prince of Anga,’ Duryodhana declared. ‘I seek nothing in return but your friendship.’

  From that moment on, Karna pledged his life, his loyalty and his undying friendship to Duryodhana, who had saved him from such public disgrace. His foster father, Adiratha, came forward and touched Karna’s feet in homage.

  Bhima bellowed with mocking laughter. ‘A mere charioteer’s son can never become a prince,’ he exclaimed scornfully. ‘The high-born Arjuna would not demean himself by fighting someone of your humble origins!’

  Duryodhana rose once again to his new friend’s defence. ‘Courage and valour, and not birth, are the hallmarks of a hero,’ he said reprovingly.

  ‘It is true that my father is only a charioteer,’ Karna said to Duryodhana, ‘but he has taught me to be proud and brave. Today, you have honoured me and made me prince of Anga. I shall never forget what you have done for me.’

  Meanwhile, the sun had set. Kripacharya stepped forward. ‘It is evening,’ he said. ‘The time for the games is over. You may all disperse and return home.’

  And so it was that the battle between the two greatest heroes of the day was postponed until another time.

  The Wax Palace

  Duryodhana’s envy and hatred of the Pandavas grew every day. He thought them vain, conceited and insufferable. Their popularity with the people of Hastinapura only made matters worse.

  Gandhari’s brother Sakuni, who had come with her to the Kuru court at the time of her marriage to Dhritarashtra, had stayed on as a royal counsellor. Sakuni was always provoking his nephew Duryodhana to plot and intrigue against the Pandavas.

  ‘I wonder who will rule the kingdom after you? Will it be me or my cousin Yudhishthira?’ Duryodhana would ask his father, as though the thought had only casually crossed his mind. Dhritarashtra was in his way a fair man and he did love his nephews, but he doted beyond belief upon his own sons, especially Duryodhana.

  ‘Although you are their king, the people remember that Pandu was chosen king before you. They look at Pandu’s sons and think them the future heirs of your kingdom,’ Duryodhana would say to his father. Slowly his words began to have effect. Dhritarashtra’s love for his nephews began to change into suspicion.

  When Duryodhana suggested that the Pandavas be persuaded to leave Hastinapura for a while, Dhritarashtra agreed readily. He requested Yudhishthira and his brothers to visit Varanvata for the festival of Shiva. The Kauravas, especially Duryodhana, went out of their way to praise the beauties of Varanvata. It was decided that the five brothers and their mother Kunti would leave together on an appointed day for the long trip to the north.

  Once he managed to persuade his cousins to go to Varanvata, Duryodhana set about executing the evil plan he had so carefully hatched. He and his brother Dusasana ordered their minister, Purochana, to rush to Varanvata and build a beautiful house for the Pandavas, which was to be ready by the time they arrived. This house was to be built of wax and lac, straw and dried wood, and other such materials that could quickly catch fire. ‘This house should catch fire in a moment, but nobody should know by looking at it,’ Duryodhana instructed Purochana. ‘It must have only one door, and no other exit. Your room, Purochana, should be next to the door, so that you can ensure that these accursed five are unable to escape when the time comes for them to die.’

  Purochana went to Varanvata with his assistants and set about constructing a splendid palace, built cunningly of all kinds of inflammable material. He built his own room next to the main door, and awaited the arrival of the Pandavas and Kunti.

  Duryodhana and his friends were discussing their next move. ‘The Pandavas will soon die,’ he exulted. ‘Then I shall be the crown prince without any challenges, and king after my father dies. Nobody will ever suspect that I had any hand in their murder. Even if they are suspicious, no one will dare to oppose me, for my power shall be all-encompassing.’

  And so Duryodhana, Dusasana, Sakuni and their minister Kanika, made plans about how to seize power in the kingdom. ‘Bhishma will at worst be neutral, for he loves his family too much to take sides. Ashwathama is my friend, and so his father Drona and uncle Kripa will always be there on our side. As for our uncle Vidura, who may perhaps love our cousins more than he does us, Vidura is no warrior and has no army to back him. How can he possibly harm us?’ And so the Kauravas made their plans and daydreamed of the time when the Pandavas would all be dead, burnt to cinders in the wax palace at Varanvata.

  But walls have ears, especially in palaces, where servants and courtiers and spies can eavesdrop and overhear the most secret of conversations. Vidura came to know of Duryodhana’s plans and grieved that his brother Dhritarashtra and his sons had forgotten all notions of what is right and what is wrong. He remembered his beloved brother Pandu, who had died young, and vowed to himself that he would do his utmost to protect Pandu’s widow Kunti and her unsuspecting sons.

  When the Pandavas set off for Varanvata, Vidura rode with them part of the way to give them company, and so that he might speak to them in private and warn them of the plot to murder them. He spoke to Yudhishthira in a rough mountain dialect, which the princes had learnt as children when they lived with their father Pandu in the high mountain valley. Vidura knew that none of the other courtiers knew or understood this mountain tongue, and so no one present could understand his intentions. To further protect himself and his nephew, Vidura spoke in riddles, for he trusted that the wise Yudhishthira would be able to decipher their secret meaning.

  ‘All sharp weapons are not made of steel,’ Vidura told Yudhishthira, who listened closely. ‘The enemy of water cannot hurt those whose homes have secret doors and passages underground. The blind man never knows where he is going, but one who is forewarned can see even in the dark and find his way with the help of the stars. Take care, my child, and heed my words.’

  ‘I have understood well what you are saying,’ Yudhishthira replied. Resolving to look after his mother and his brothers and protect them against any mishap, he set off for Varanvata, while Vidura turned back to Hastinapura.

  That evening, when they were resting in the forest, out of earshot of their retinue of servants, Kunti asked her son what it was that Vidura had said to him in the mountain dialect.

  ‘The house we go to is to be set on fire. Uncle Vidura warned us to seek escape through a secret tunnel.’ So Kunti and her family were prepared for the evil plot that had been hatched against them.

  Purochana was awaiting them when they arrived in the mountain village of Varanvata. The preparations for the Shiva festival were on in full swing. A magnificent palace had been constructed to house the royal visitors. Wood, jute oil and fat had been used to build it so that it would burn easily. The walls had been plastered from the outside, but inside they contained straw soaked in combustible fat. Inviting stools and chairs had been placed in the most dangerous spots. It was a deathtrap, a disaster waiting to happen. But the Pandavas, forewarned by Vidura, did not in the least betray their suspicions.

  Purochana watched with malicious delight as the brothers and their mother pretended to admire their new home. ‘What lovely curtains!’ they exclaimed, although the fabric had been cleverly woven from a special mountain reed that catches fire almost by itself. The floors were covered with loose flintstones, which could spark into flame just by friction. ‘I must compliment you on the beautiful stone tiles on the floors,’ Yudhishthira told Purochana, who smirked to himself at the Pandava’s stupidity.

  Bhima was as usual the most impatient. ‘We must kill Purochana and make our escape,’ he exclaimed. ‘I can smell the wax and lac on the roof and the walls; I see the straw, the dry bamboo and reeds behind the plaster. Why are we wasting precious time?’

  ‘You must understand strategy, brother,’ Yudhishthira cautioned him. ‘Duryodhana has money and power. His father is blinded by love for him. When the moment is right, we will escape, not before
or after. Until then, we shall keep our knowledge of the enemy’s plans a secret.’

  The Pandavas’ Escape

  Purochana was certain that the Pandavas had no clue about his evil plans. He dreamt about the rewards that Duryodhana would heap upon him, and felt happy.

  In the meanwhile, a miner, who spoke the rough language of the north, came to visit the Pandavas. He sought an audience with Yudhishthira. ‘Your uncle Vidura has sent me,’ he said. ‘You must make plans to escape. In fourteen days, the sun will shine at midnight and you may perish in its flame. Tell me what to do.’

  ‘Begin your digging some distance from the river,’ Yudhishthira instructed him, ‘and build a secret tunnel which will end in this room, at the very spot where you are now standing.’

  ‘On the afternoon of the thirteenth day, you may raise the boards,’ the miner replied.

  On the fourteenth day, Kunti organized a sumptuous feast for her attendants and the villagers of Varanvata. At midnight, after everyone had drunk and eaten to their hearts’ content and most of the guests had left, Bhima went to Purochana’s room, while Yudhishthira proceeded to open the mouth of the tunnel.

  ‘Duryodhana’s orders must be obeyed,’ Bhima told Purochana. ‘The palace must be set afire tonight.’ With these words he slammed shut the door to Purochana’s chamber and locked it from the outside. He took a torch and set the house on fire. The evil minister was burnt to death, perishing as a result of his wicked plot.

  Yudhishthira had already led Kunti, Nakula, Sahadeva and Arjuna down the tunnel. Bhima rushed after them, running for his life even as the wax palace became a molten ball of bursting, crackling flames.

  As they fled down the secret tunnel, they could feel the heat of the fire overhead. They groped along in the dark, holding on to each other. When at last the Pandavas stepped out into the windy night, they stared up in amazement at the incandescent sky. It was ablaze with light reflected from the fire.

  The wax palace burnt furiously for a few days. The villagers of Varanvata tried desperately to control the fire, but the palace had been constructed with such inflammatory material that it was impossible to extinguish it.

  Mourning in Hastinapura

  The news reached Hastinapura. Although Duryodhana and his brothers were overjoyed that their plans to murder their cousins had succeeded, they pretended nevertheless to be heartbroken by the news.

  The citizens of Hastinapura were not taken in by the Kauravas’ tears. The Pandavas had always been more popular than the Kauravas because of their kind and courteous behaviour. The people muttered their suspicions under their breaths, but none would speak them aloud for fear of the wicked Kauravas.

  When at last the flames subsided, the remains of Purochana, along with those of several others, including five young men and a woman, were found among the ashes. The Pandavas had of course escaped, and the bodies belonged to a family of beggars who had come to eat at the royal feast. The Kauravas, however, were now convinced that they were finally rid of their cousins and rivals for the throne.

  The first step in evil-doing is always the most difficult. Although Duryodhana was thrilled that he had managed to eliminate his cousins, his conscience did sometimes secretly prick him. After all, he and the Pandavas had all grown up together.

  The blind king Dhritarashtra was also battling with conflicting emotions. He grieved deeply at the death of his brother’s wife and children at the hands of their own kinsmen, but he knew this would bring peace for his adored, self-willed sons. ‘With trust and kindness between us, we could have been like a grove of tall trees in the sunlight,’ he thought to himself. ‘But now my Duryodhana stands alone, like a single tree in a village square.’

  Some of the courtiers noticed that Vidura, who had always doted on the Pandavas, was not as overcome by grief as he might be. ‘Is it because he is a philosopher that he can accept the death of his nephews so calmly?’ they wondered. Vidura was, of course, secure in the knowledge that the five had survived the fire. The miner who had dug the tunnel through which they had escaped had already reported to him that they were safe and sound. So Vidura tried his hardest to look sad, while in his mind’s eye he followed the Pandavas’ journey.

  Bhishma was heartbroken. Sacrificing his own life and throne, he had guarded and looked after the welfare of his family ever since Santanu had chosen Satyawati as his second wife. Vidura comforted his grand-uncle. ‘They are alive still,’ he told Bhishma, ‘and shall return to claim their kingdom when the time is ripe.’

  In a forest far away, the Pandavas wandered, seeking refuge. The brothers were exhausted, and Kunti was overcome by fear and anxiety. Bhima, always the strongest, carried his mother on his shoulders, and Nakula and Sahadeva on his hips, even as he supported Yudhishthira and Arjuna with his arms.

  At last, they reached the river where the miner had kept a boat and boatman waiting for them. ‘Your uncle Vidura has sent you a message,’ the boatman said. ‘He warns you not to be careless, and he reassures you that your destiny will never betray you. Let none know your real identity.’

  The Pandavas and their mother Kunti crossed the river through the still night. At dawn, they stepped ashore in the heart of a wild forest, far from any town or city. They slept under the trees, exhausted from their long journey. Later, disguising themselves as wandering priests, they made their way through the forest, searching for a place where they could live.

  Hidimb and Hidimbi

  The forest the Pandavas had found refuge in was called the Hidimbavan. It belonged to a rakshasa called Hidimb, who lived there with his sister Hidimbi. Rakshasas love the taste of human flesh, and Hidimb and Hidimbi would eagerly await the arrival of any man or woman foolish enough to enter their forest, so that they might make a tasty meal of them.

  Hidimb was sitting atop a high tree when the smell of human flesh wafted towards his enormous nostrils. His eyes scanned the forest until they rested upon the Pandavas, who were sleeping under the trees. Kunti lay curled up beside them.

  Hidimb was feeling rather lazy, so he persuaded Hidimbi to kill the humans and roast them until they were nicely done. Now Hidimbi was a sweet-natured sort of demoness and she agreed immediately to her brother’s suggestion. Leaping from tree to tree, she arrived at the spot where the tired travellers were sleeping, unaware of the danger awaiting them.

  When Hidimbi saw the sleeping Bhima, with his enormous muscular body, lean hips and wrestler’s thighs, she fell instantly in love with him. While Hidimbi was beautiful by demon standards, she knew that this would not appeal to human eyes. She used her rakshasi powers to transform herself into the most beautiful maiden possible. She now had large, expressive eyes, with thick eyelashes that she batted incessantly, and an enchanting dimpled smile.

  Through the mist of sleep, Bhima heard her approaching the spot where he lay. He opened his eyes and saw the lovely apparition, and immediately he too fell in love with her. ‘I love you,’ Bhima said to Hidimbi. ‘Who are you and what are you doing alone in this dark forest?’

  ‘I am Hidimbi,’ replied the demoness. ‘My brother Hidimb loves the taste of human flesh and wants to eat you for dinner. But I have fallen in love with you—I must save you and your family!’

  Bhima was afraid of nobody and nothing. ‘I can take your brother on anytime!’ he exclaimed.

  While Hidimbi and Bhima were busy falling in love, Hidimb had got tired of waiting for his dinner and came in search of his sister. When he heard her talking to Bhima, he flew into an enormous rage. ‘I shall kill both of you and eat you up together,’ he roared.

  ‘Don’t make so much noise, or you will wake my mother!’ responded Bhima, and attacked the mighty rakshasa. Hidimb put up a good fight, and the two wrestled and grappled with each other before Hidimbi’s terrified eyes.

  Kunti and the other Pandavas woke up from all the shouting. Kunti saw the beautiful maiden and mistook her for a forest spirit. ‘Are you the guardian spirit of these wild woods?’ she inquired. ‘And who is
this ugly demon who dares to fight my son Bhima?’

  Hidimbi told Kunti of her love for Bhima. ‘And this uncouth rakshasa who is attacking your handsome son is unfortunately my brother Hidimb,’ she said.

  The other Pandavas tried to help their brother Bhima, but he pushed them away. Very soon, he had the advantage over Hidimb, and he beat and pummelled and jumped on him until the rakshasa was dead. Hidimbi watched with tears in her eyes; her sorrow at her brother’s death was overcome with tears of joy and relief that Bhima was still alive.

  ‘I want to marry you,’ Hidimbi said to Bhima. ‘I have chosen you for my husband.’

  ‘I love you too,’ said Bhima. ‘But my brothers and I are wanderers, and I cannot promise to spend the rest of my life with you.’

  ‘Whatever time we spend together will make the rest of my life worthwhile,’ replied Hidimbi. ‘Marry me! I shall look after you and your mother and brothers like a true and loyal wife, and shed no tears when the time comes for you to leave.’

  With Kunti’s permission, Bhima married Hidimbi. They lived together in the woods near the sacred lake of Salivahana.

  After seven months had passed, the sage Vyasa came to visit them. ‘It is not wise for you to rest for too long in the same place,’ he advised them. ‘Soon Hidimbi will bear you a noble son. After you have blessed him, it will be time for you to move on. You must go next to Ekachakra, for that is what your destiny demands.’

  Hidimbi soon gave birth to a son, whom the brothers named Ghatotkacha. He was the favourite of his father, but even more so of Yudhishthira, who spent all his time playing with his little nephew.

  Soon their time in Salivahana was up. Kunti and her sons wept many tears at the prospect of leaving Ghatotkacha behind, with only Hidimbi to look after him. But the brave rakshasi kept her word and did not weep a single tear, although her heart was broken at the prospect of being parted from her beloved Bhima.