The Puffin Mahabharata Read online

  ‘Look after our son,’ Bhima told her. ‘I shall always be with you in my thoughts. Whenever you need me, just think of me and I will arrive by your side.’ Yudhishthira held Ghatotkacha in his arms and blessed him, and then it was time for them to begin their wanderings again.

  By nightfall, they arrived at the desolate village of Ekachakra, where a few poor huts huddled around the neglected fields. They slept in the open. In the morning, when the village gates were opened, a kind Brahmin invited them to shelter in his house, and they accepted his offer gratefully.

  Vakasura

  The Pandavas settled down to their new life in Ekachakra. Disguised as Brahmins, they would beg for food and alms from pious households. Whatever food and money they got would be given to their mother Kunti, who would divide it equally among her five sons. That was how they began; but then the brothers noticed that the mighty Bhima seemed always to be hungry and irritable. They realized that he needed more food than the rest of them put together. Kunti began dividing the dinner into two equal portions: one half for Bhima and the other half to be shared by the rest.

  One day, when only Kunti and Bhima were at home, they heard the sounds of loud weeping from the room of their host. Concerned and worried, Kunti rushed to find out what had happened.

  The Brahmin, his wife and their children were all sobbing uncontrollably. ‘Time and again have I told my wife that we should leave this accursed village of Ekachakra!’ the Brahmin lamented. ‘A man-eating rakshasa called Vaka rules over this place. Every year, we must send him tribute. He demands a cartload of cooked rice, two buffaloes and an innocent human being to feast upon in a field outside the village. Every year we draw lots to decide who is to be sent to be devoured by Vakasura. Tomorrow is my turn to be eaten alive! What will happen to my family? Who will look after my wife and children after I am gone?’ He fell to weeping again.

  ‘I will go in your place, and you can marry once again after I am dead!’ his wife volunteered bravely.

  ‘No, let us go,’ the Brahmin’s children pleaded. ‘It is the duty of a child to sacrifice his life for his parents!’

  Kunti overheard this conversation. She was moved by their love, and their willingness to sacrifice their lives for one another. ‘Wipe your tears,’ she said calmly. ‘None of you shall die. Send my son to Vakasura. It is the rakshasa’s time to die, and my son shall kill him.’

  The Brahmin’s mouth was agape with fear and astonishment. ‘No one can kill Vakasura,’ he sobbed, shuddering helplessly as he spoke. ‘He is stronger than anyone and everyone. Besides, your son is my guest. It is my sacred duty to protect him.’

  ‘No one in this world can be stronger than my beloved son,’ Kunti responded with deep conviction. ‘He is invincible in battle.’

  When Bhima heard Kunti’s plan, he grinned happily to himself. ‘I shall have a fine feast tomorrow!’ he said, drumming his belly in anticipation.

  The next day, the villagers cooked the rice and kept the buffaloes ready. As the wagon departed for the field outside the village, Bhima sat down in it, instead of his host. The other Pandavas, especially Yudhishthira, were worried about their brother but Kunti reprimanded them. ‘You are warriors,’ she said firmly, ‘even though you are now disguised as priests. It is your duty to protect the weak and the helpless.’

  When Bhima arrived at the clearing outside the forest, he built an enormous fire upon which he roasted the two buffaloes which had been sent as tribute to Vakasura The smell of roasting meat spread through the forest, and Bhima got to work eating the two buffaloes. He burped loudly and began on the mounds of cooked rice. In between mouthfuls he would bellow out to the demon. ‘Come out, you ugly monster!’ he screamed. ‘Let’s see what you look like!’

  Vakasura smelt the roasted meat, and the rice, and the human being full of fresh tasty blood. His mouth watered at the thought of the delicious meal that awaited him. As he strode into the field outside Ekachakra, his good humour turned into rude shock and his eyes popped out of their sockets in surprise. ‘Who dares to eat my dinner?’ he growled unpleasantly.

  Vakasura was tall as a cliff, with flaming red hair and a beard to match. His skin was green, his mouth brown and smelly; his fangs were caked with dirt and blood. As he rushed towards Bhima, he was a truly fearsome sight. But the strongest of the Pandavas smiled unconcernedly and continued to eat the rice.

  Vakasura could not bear to watch his dinner disappear. He uprooted an enormous tree and chucked it at Bhima, who brushed it aside as though it were a blade of grass. ‘It’s bad manners to disturb your guests at mealtimes,’ he chided. Vakasura foamed with rage. Bhima ignored him and continued to eat until he had finished every last grain of rice. Then he rose with a sigh of contentment and confronted the angry rakshasa.

  ‘Thanks to you, I’ve had a decent meal,’ he said. ‘But that’s no reason for you to stay alive.’ He lifted Vakasura high over his head and dashed him to the ground. The demon howled and yelped with pain, and tried to strangle Bhima even as he lay dying. Not for nothing had Kunti described her son as the strongest man in the world! Vakasura was no match for him. He spewed out a fountain of blood from his mouth and uttered a last blood-curdling yelp before he died.

  The villagers heard his howls and screams and huddled together in fear, wondering what calamity would befall them next. Even Yudhishthira, Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva were worried, though they tried their best not to show it. Only Kunti was not anxious, for she knew her son and how strong he was.

  At last, the mighty Pandava returned to Ekachakra, dragging Vakasura’s corpse behind him. He left the body at the village gate, and returned quietly to his mother and brothers, for Bhima had to continue to conceal his identity and maintain his disguise as a Brahmin priest.

  The next morning, when they discovered Vakasura’s mangled body, the villagers stared at it in disbelief. Once they realized that the demon was really and truly dead, their shock turned to joy and relief.

  ‘Who has delivered us from this evil?’ they wondered.

  ‘A wandering Brahmin heard my prayers and came to my rescue,’ the Pandavas’ host replied. ‘We are saved forever from the curse of the evil demon Vakasura.’ The Pandavas and Kunti smiled mischievously at one another but kept their secret safe and secure in their hearts.

  Draupadi’s Swayamvara

  Ever since the day he had been defeated in battle by his childhood friend Drona, King Drupad of Panchala had been planning an elaborate revenge. He left his queen and palace at Kampilya, and spent his time in prayer and meditation. Every morning, in his prayers, he asked the god Shiva for a son who would defeat Drona.

  At last, Shiva came to Drupad in a dream and instructed him to build a fire, into which he was to pour two cups of ghee—one for a son, the other for a daughter. Thus it was that Dhrishtadyumya and Draupadi were born. Dhrishtadyumya came to earth clothed in shining armour, wearing a crown and holding a drawn sword. His sister, Draupadi, stepped out of the fire, radiant and beautiful, with long black hair and sparkling bright eyes. Drupad embraced his two fire-born children. Thanking Lord Shiva for his blessings, he left for Kampilya.

  When Arjuna had captured the king on behalf of Dronacharya, Drupad had observed the young Pandava’s courage and courtesy. ‘This prince, and none other, shall be my son-in-law,’ he had resolved. As Draupadi grew into a beautiful young woman, Drupad desired above all else that she should one day marry Arjuna.

  As the time for Draupadi’s swayamvara arrived, all the kings and princes of the neighbouring states resolved to visit Kampilya for her swayamvara, to try to win Draupadi’s bridal garland.

  The five Pandava princes, still disguised as Brahmins, were also passing through southern Panchala at that time. Kunti urged them to take part in the contest. ‘You are undoubtedly the bravest warriors in the world,’ she told them. ‘So what if you are in the guise of priests! The rule is that anybody of high birth may try his luck at a swayamvara.’

  So the Pandavas travelled to Kampil
ya. The capital was filled with excitement. King Drupad had ordered a special bow, so strong and stiff that only the greatest of archers could possibly draw it. As a further test of skill, the King of Panchala set up a contraption of revolving wheels and placed a fish within it. The contestants had to aim through the wheels at the fish. But that was not all! King Drupad had decreed that the archers could view the target only through the reflection in the pool below.

  The swayamvara began. Dhrishtadyumya entered the competition grounds holding the enormous bow and five long arrows. His sister Draupadi walked behind him, the garland of white flowers for her future husband held in her hands. Royal attendants followed to string up the fish above the pool of water.

  Dhrishtadyumya addressed the audience. ‘The victor, and my sister’s future husband, is he who can string this bow and shoot these five arrows into the eye of the fish,’ he announced, pointing to the target that swung this way and that in the breeze.

  One by one, the noble kings and princes from near and distant lands rose to try their luck. Many could not lift the heavy bow, and others could not manage to aim it right. Some were even thrown off their feet in the attempt and fell to the ground, covered with dust, as the jeering crowds laughed and ridiculed them. The Kaurava princes too had come for the swayamvara. Duryodhana tried his hand but without success. As one after the other the suitors failed to string the bow, King Drupad wondered if his daughter would ever get married.

  At last there were no more kings or princes left. The only other young man besides Arjuna who could have won the contest was his half-brother Karna. But Karna, although he had been born of the sun god Surya and appointed king of Anga by Duryodhana, was still in the eyes of the world the son of a charioteer, and he knew that Drupad would consider him too low-born to marry his daughter. And so Karna had not competed in the contest.

  Arjuna observed the beautiful Draupadi from the Brahmins’ enclosure where he sat disguised as a priest. ‘I must try to win her,’ he told himself, and rose to enter the arena. Some of the unsuccessful suitors, who had failed to string the bow, began to jeer. ‘He is but a priest,’ they said, ‘a Brahmin who has spent his life studying and praying! How does he imagine he can find the strength to even hold that heavy bow?’

  Dhrishtadyumya silenced them. ‘My sister will marry anyone of a good family who can bend the bow and hit the target,’ he said. He bowed politely towards Arjuna and urged him to begin.

  Arjuna strung the bow with assured ease, and looked around him at the expectant crowd with a mischievous smile. He lowered his gaze and stared intently at the reflection of the fish in the pool of water. Then, before the audience in the arena had the time even to blink, he had shot the five arrows into the eye of the fish.

  The princes and kings were shocked by the unexpected skill of this unlikely priest. They stared in disbelief as Arjuna approached the princess Draupadi, even as the other Brahmins jumped and shouted in exultation, waving their deerskins in an excited victory dance.

  Draupadi stared shyly at her future husband, noticing how handsome and valiant he looked. She glowed with joy and happiness as she garlanded him with the white flowers.

  Some of the disgruntled princes and rejected suitors were eager to pick up a quarrel. ‘A king’s daughter cannot marry a priest!’ they exclaimed. ‘We shall not allow it.’ Krishna, the son of Kunti’s brother Vasudeva, was there too, along with his brother Balarama, and they tried their best to calm things down. Bhima, rough and ready as always, uprooted a medium-sized tree from the ornamental garden and stripped it of its leaves so that he could use it as a makeshift bludgeon. Arjuna threw a dusty robe around his new bride, and rushed her out of the arena. He commandeered a waiting chariot; the charioteer was too intimidated by Bhima’s menacing bludgeon and enormous physique to refuse their request. And so it was that the princess Draupadi came to be married to the same Arjuna who had kidnapped her father so many years ago, just as Drupad had hoped.

  The brothers arrived home, where Kunti was anxiously awaiting their return. Dhrishtadyumya followed them secretly. When he saw the five brothers with their regal-looking mother, he was convinced that they were none other than the Pandavas and Kunti. He rushed back to Kampilya to tell his father the good news.

  ‘I have brought home a precious gift today, mother,’ Arjuna announced, as he introduced his new bride to Kunti.

  Kunti had always urged her sons to share everything equally. ‘Then you must share it with your brothers,’ she replied.

  Arjuna turned to his new bride, ‘I have always obeyed my mother, and shared everything with my brothers,’ he told the bewildered Draupadi. ‘Now I must share you, my wife, equally with them. You shall be wife to all of us five brothers, and we shall all give you our love and honour and protection.’

  A few days later, Drupad called Arjuna and Draupadi to Kampilya. He was a bit surprised and confused that Draupadi was by now married to all the five brothers and that he had not one but five sons-in-law! He gave the Pandavas his blessings, and promised to help them get their kingdom back, so that his beloved daughter could rule as queen.

  The Return from Exile

  The news of Draupadi’s swayamvara reached Hastinapura. Vidura was overjoyed and rushed to Dhritarashtra’s royal chamber to give him the news. ‘King Drupad’s daughter has become our daughter-in-law,’ he exclaimed. ‘Our kingdom will be strengthened with such powerful allies!’

  Dhritarashtra immediately, and quite naturally in the circumstances, assumed that his favourite Duryodhana had triumphed at the swayamvara. ‘Bring Draupadi before me,’ he said excitedly. ‘The princess of Panchala has been wise in choosing my dear Duryodhana.’

  Vidura hastened to correct his mistake. ‘It is Arjuna who has won the princess of Panchala,’ he explained. ‘Our brother’s sons are alive, and the five Pandavas have jointly married Draupadi. They are now in Kampilya, accompanied by Queen Kunti, living under the protection of King Drupad.’

  Dhritarashtra was extremely upset by this news, but he could not betray his true feelings. The failed plot to murder the Pandavas had to remain a secret at any cost. ‘I am delighted at this unexpected news,’ the blind king murmured, screwing up his face into an unconvincing expression of joy. ‘How absolutely wonderful! And here we were mourning their deaths!’

  The news that the Pandavas were alive, and married to the daughter of King Drupad, spread through the palace like wild fire. Some of the courtiers were overjoyed, but most of them were cautious in displaying their emotions. The eldest of the Kaurava brothers, Duryodhana and Dusasana, rushed to their uncle Sakuni in consternation. ‘We should never have trusted that fool Purochana,’ Duryodhana whispered, gnashing his teeth as he spoke. ‘Fortune has favoured the Pandavas again. They have escaped death by fire, and survived to emerge stronger than ever, with Dhrishtadyumya and Sikhandin to strengthen their camp. We must destroy them speedily before we perish at their hands.’

  This Sikhandin that Duryodhana spoke of was a mighty warrior with a strange history. When Princess Amba had been scorned by Bhishma, who had refused to marry her, she had sworn revenge and won Shiva’s blessing that she would succeed in her goal in her next life. Determined to avenge her humiliation Amba decided to kill herself so that she could be reborn and seek her revenge. She was reincarnated as Sikhandin, the daughter of Drupad. When she was still young, she found a garland of never-fading flowers that Amba had placed as a challenge to Bhishma. By a prediction of Parshurama, whoever wore this garland was destined to kill Bhishma. The young princess Sikhandin had confidently placed the still-fresh garland around her neck.

  King Drupad was alarmed that a mere girl, vulnerable and defenceless, was presuming to fight the great Bhishma. Women warriors were still unheard of in those days. ‘It cannot be,’ he exclaimed, ‘you are a mere woman, not a warrior!’

  So Sikhandin was sent into exile to repent and mend her ways. Sikhandin prayed and meditated until she assumed the guise of a man. Then she, or rather he, studied the art of
war and became a famous and fearless soldier, accomplished in every aspect of battle.

  Duryodhana was determined to resist the Pandavas’ return. Accompanied by his loyal friend Karna, he went to Dhritarashtra’s chamber and sought his father’s counsel.

  ‘Do not speak of these matters before Vidura,’ the blind king warned his eldest and favourite son. ‘You must not display your disappointment at the Pandavas’ good fortune in front of him. Whatever we do must be done secretly and under the guise of brotherly affection.’

  Consumed with envy, Duryodhana proposed a series of improbable plans. ‘Let us create enmity among the five Pandavas,’ he blustered, ‘and break their unity. Or, we could bribe Drupad to take our side against his sons-in-law.’

  ‘Don’t be foolish, Duryodhana,’ Karna said, with his customary bluntness. ‘The Pandavas have seen through your machinations. It will not be so easy to fool them now. The only honourable way out is through warfare. We must strike on the battlefield and destroy them with our superior strength and skill.’

  Dhritarashtra consulted with Bhishma, the patriarch of the family, as well as with their guru Dronacharya. Both agreed that the Pandavas should be invited back to Hastinapura and given their share of the Kuru kingdom. Dhritarashtra secretly resented this good advice. He believed his adored sons deserved to inherit the entire kingdom. But he could not show his true feelings, and had to put up a pretence of agreeing with them. ‘My nephews shall have the share in the kingdom that my brother Pandu left in trust with me,’ he said, trying his hardest to sound sincere.

  Duryodhana, Dusasana and Karna listened to these words in consternation. They were young and in a hurry to prove themselves. Bhishma and Drona’s words of wisdom, drawn from a lifetime of experience, struck them as being weak and defeatist.