AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) (29 page)

“Do you know who I am?” Ekalavya pressed his foot down hard, pinning Arjuna to the ground.

Arjuna was choking. “I know...”

The forest echoed with Ekalavya’s laughter. It was enough. His victory was complete. Yet he wanted to hear it from Arjuna’s mouth. “Tell me who I am,” he said, leaning over Arjuna, his sword raised.

“You are Lord Shiva.”

“Shiva! Do I look like Lord Shiva to you?” Ekalavya demanded, more amused than angry.

“No untouchable can defeat a Kshatriya. You are none other than Lord Shiva, the greatest of all Gods,” Arjuna mumbled.

“Does this remind you of something?” Ekalavya said, thrusting his hand in Arjuna’s face.

As Arjuna stared at the four fingers, all colour drained from his face. He turned his head away away and mumbled, “You are Shiva. You are Shiva.”

There was no point in killing Arjuna in the wilderness with no witnesses. The world would never know that a Nishada had defeated the greatest of all Kshatriyas in a fair fight. Arjuna’s punishment would be the knowledge that a Nishada had defeated him – a Nishada without a thumb!

“No Kirata can defeat me,” Arjuna mumbled again.

Ekalavya took his foot off Arjuna’s chest. “You are right. I am Shiva. Who is not Shiva? What boon shall I bestow upon you?”

Arjuna sat up, burning with shame at the insult. Fire was raging inside him as much as it was around him in the forest. “Give me your bow.” His voice was barely audible.

“You think I won because there is some magic in my bow? You can accept magic but not a Nishada getting the better of you, Arjuna? Here, take it, the bow is yours. Consider it the divine bow of Shiva,
Pashupatha
itself. Take it and get out of my forest!” Ekalavya said with disdain as he threw the bow at Arjuna’s feet.

He laughed as the Pandava stooped to pick it up. Ekalavya raised his hand in mock blessing. For a brief moment Arjuna’s eyes lingered on the four fingers and the non-existent thumb, then he walked away through the smoke, carrying Ekalavya’s bow.

As he watched Arjuna’s fading figure, the elation Ekalavya felt was overwhelming. This was the moment he had lived for. He had finally beaten Arjuna, the great Pandava! Arjuna, the favourite of Guru Drona! An untouchable had achieved the impossible. Perhaps Arjuna was right and he was no ordinary mortal. He was Shiva, the God of Gods. Despite himself, his feet started moving. The forest fire raged around him. He could hear the beat of a
dumru
and feel the flames on his body. ‘I am the Creator, I am the Preserver, and I am the Destroyer. I am SHIVA..’ The Nishada danced the
tandav
as if the end of the world was at hand.

In the palace Lakshmana waited for Ekalavya to come, while evil eyes devoured her youth and beauty.

*****

32
   
T
HE
S
TALKER

WHY WOULD HER FATHER NOT LISTEN
? Lakshmana had tried speaking to him as he sat alone in the Sabha, but Suyodhana had ordered her away. She had run out stifling a sob. He had never behaved with her in that manner before. But he had to know the truth. Perhaps it would be better to wait until morning when his anger would have cooled. Then she would explain everything. Her brother was innocent; he was being framed.

Lakshmana and her mother had dragged Lakshmana Kumara to his room. His cheek was still bleeding from the slap he had received from their father. How could Suyodhana be so cruel? Kumara was reluctant to talk. It took a lot of cajoling for him to open up.

That evening, when everyone was at their prayers, Abhimanyu had whispered into Kumara’s ear that Valsala wished to meet him. Enamoured and besotted, he had gone to the tryst. He found her in a playful mood and she had invited him into her room. Once he was inside, she had slipped out and locked the door from the outside. He had shouted out to her but had been thrown onto the bed by strong hands. A dark man had pinned him down. The next thing he remembered was Balarama standing at the door glaring at them. There were many others behind him. The man who had pinned him to the bed, grinned, planted a kiss on both his cheeks and then jumped out through the window. Despite Kumara’s protests, Balarama had dragged him to the Sabha.

Abhimanyu’s betrayal wounded Kumara more than anything else. Lakshmana insisted they discuss it with their father but her brother would not listen. Why did her father dislike Kumara so much? When she walked back to her chamber, the night had almost gone. She entered and threw her gold-embroidered upper garment onto a chair and got into bed. But sleep did not cast its merciful mantle over her even when her tired head touched her pillow. She tossed from side to side in her bed. Why did she suddenly feel afraid? Rising, she looked around her as she took the upper garment from the chair where she had cast it, and wrapped herself in it. Was someone watching her? She was afraid to close her eyes. She missed her godfather, Ekalavya. Why had he not come? She had written to him about her fears, yet he had not come. Neither the Nishada nor the Princess were aware how grevious would prove the cost of that delay.

***

Samba had been waiting in the shadows for hours for the sweet little thing to return to her chamber. He pressed further into the shadows as he saw her come. How beautiful she was! He heard her tossing about on her bed and waited impatiently for her to fall asleep. When the only sound he heard was that of the crickets in the garden, he tiptoed towards the door, making sure no one was around to see him enter. He had been stalking this girl from Dwaraka. When he had laid eyes on her a few months ago at the Yadava palace, he had decided he had to have her at any cost. For several days he had followed her, his fantasies running wild, his eyes roving over her beautiful body, imagining her in his arms. He had discovered that she was the daughter of the Crown Prince of a Northern territory and that her father was an evil but powerful man, according to rumours. Now, having seen the great city of Hastinapura, he realised she was a good catch as well. Samba was uninterested in politics. His father was considered to be an avatar of Vishnu. He chuckled at the thought. Who would dare challenge the son of a God?

Samba had seen Krishna entering Balarama’s room. The marriage had been called off because the groom preferred boys. Samba felt like laughing. His father would even now be in his uncle’s room, discussing Valsala’s future. Everyone knew she was sweet on his cousin, Abhimanyu, but still they had wanted her to marry Suyodhana’s queer son. Politics! Perhaps his uncle would permit Valsala to marry Abhimanyu now. Balarama had to save face. Somewhere in the whole episode was his father’s hand.

Krishna had become intolerant of late. There had been no need for Krishna to slap and shout at him the night he had casually groped this cute little thing. In some corner of his mind, Samba feared his father’s patience would snap one day and there would be hell to pay. But he had worked out a way to keep his father in check. His mother, Jambavati, was a Vanara woman of the Jamabavan tribe. His father felt guilty that his other wives did not treat the Vanara woman well. Samba had grown up watching his mother fight bitter battles with Krishna’s other wives. They called her monkey-woman and him a monkey-child. His father tried to compensate by being more gentle and kind with them both.

Samba grew up to be wild and uncontrollable. Though just twenty, he was an alcoholic and indulged in rampant promiscuous behaviour. When charm did not work, he did not hesitate to use force. Few women dared resist him because he was as ruthless as he was vengeful. Though
soma
and excessive indulgence had started taking their toll on him, he had inherited his father’s powerful physique and charm. He was generous with money and trinkets. Each time he got into trouble, his father bailed him out, hushing up the incident. Every time it ended the same way, with his father shouting and threatening. Samba would act repentant and beg his father’s forgiveness. His mother would join in pleading with Krishna. If nothing else worked, his mother would use her usual weapon, saying Krishna was being cruel to them because they were Vanara. That usually ended with his helpless father forgiving him.

Samba knew he had to keep away from his Uncle Balarama. Twice, the old man had ordered him to be whipped in public. He had escaped both times because his father had pleaded with the Yadava King. He was going to take his revenge on the old man one day. For now, he had no other thought except that he wanted this beautiful girl. Groping her mango-shaped breast had only served to inflame his lust. Though she had cried and made a scene, he was sure she had enjoyed his touch. Girls were like that, he thought, creating a fuss when someone gave them what they ached for.

Samba took out his knife and looked around again. No one was around. Perfect. Without a sound he inserted the knife into the gap between the door panels. He had to work the bolt with care but he had done it often it enough, with other women. They would act shocked at first but before long they would be enjoying it as much as he did. Which woman could resist a handsome man like him?

Her perfume maddened him. He could imagine his hands all over her. Samba tried to find the bolt with the sharp edge of his knife. To his surprise the door swung open soundlessly. Ah, there she was, lying on the bed with her eyes closed, her body so inviting. He was sure she had left the door unlocked in anticipation. He knew women. He hoped whatever darned business Krishna had with his uncle, would keep him away the whole night. Samba bolted the door. Biting his lip he walked towards Suyodhana’s daughter.

*****

33
   
V
ENGEANCE

EKALAVYA WAS ANNOYED AT HIMSELF.
He had wasted precious time indulging in self-congratulation. Enough of playing God. His horse had run away from the forest fire and he had spent half a day searching for it. The Nishada was worried about his god-daughter. By the time he reached the outskirts of Hastinapura, his horse was frothing at the mouth and on the verge of collapse. The streetlights were being lit as he entered the city gates.

Something was amiss. The colourful streamers and festoons still hung in the streets but the sense of festivity was missing. The city looked almost empty. An alarming silence prevailed. What had happened? Ekalavya could feel his heart thudding in his chest. People moved away when they saw him riding towards the palace. He tried asking a few pedestrians about the marriage of the Prince but the answers he received were vague. The marriage had been called off for some reason and the Yadavas had left for Dwaraka a few hours earlier.

As Ekalavya entered the fort, Karna’s chariot rattled past with a band of soldiers following. Ekalavya called out to him but Karna did not stop. He and his soldiers disappeared in a cloud of dust. Another group of soldiers appeared, led by Aswathama. This time, Ekalavya blocked their path.

“Get out of my way,” Aswathama shouted, trying to control his restive mount.

“What has happened? Why was the marriage called off?” Ekalavya asked his friend.

“You don’t know? Move away. Suyodhana’s daughter is missing.”

“What?”

“She was last seen by her mother and brother in the early hours. We fear the worst. Perhaps the girl has eloped with her lover. Poor Suyodhana. Yesterday his son shamed him before the whole world, and today it is his daughter.”

“Aswathama, don’t talk such nonsense about my Princess!” Ekalavya’s hands were shaking, his throat felt scorched and dry. ‘Oh, Shiva! I have failed my daughter. If only I had not squandered my time playing God.’ With a shaking hand he wiped the sweat from his brow. Where could she be? In her letter she had said someone was stalking her.

“I have no time to argue. Everyone is searching for her. It’s a scandal.”

“Why was the marriage called off?” Ekalavya wanted to know.

“Apparently Suyodhana’s son prefers boys. What a shame! And now his daughter is missing.”

“She has not eloped. Someone was stalking her.”

“What? Why didn’t she tell her father? Who could kidnap her from the palace?”