The Thirteenth Day (25 page)

Uncle Bhima didn’t need my help getting in. It would be in everyone’s interest if I created a path from the inside.

‘Aim into the second circle. Fire at will.’

The bowmen in the chariots lifted their bows and the dull, rhythmic twangs of multiple bowstrings being released played out. A storm of arrows blew into the second layer and bodies fell like playing cards. We reloaded and fired again.

I saw Suyodhana’s standard come fast towards the second line from the inside. He came up front, positioned his chariot in front of mine and took out his bow. This was too easy. In the time it took him to reach for his quiver I had shot him thrice in the chest. He fell down on his chariot floor and was taken away immediately.

Drona’s son, Ashwatthama, came at me in a rage and fired twice. Both missed, and I pierced his arm with a crescent-headed arrow. He clutched it and swore at me. My next caught him in the thigh, and his charioteer wisely turned around and retreated.

The second circle wilted under our arrows and we triumphantly marched through to the third. I looked around for any familiar faces and wasn’t disappointed. Kritavarma, Shakuni and Shalya were holding the circle. Before they could attack, I had fired an arrow that nicked Shalya in the neck and another that nearly took Shakuni’s head off. Kritavarma fired in response, but I was able to catch the arc of his arrow and stepped aside. Bali on my left fired back and got him on the shoulder. Our advance force was doing well. The ferocity of our attack had surprised them.

Pradyumna used to tell me that on some days, and these days were very rare, a warrior could hold his destiny in the palm of his hand and direct it where he chose. Then every arrow, every sword strike or mace swing or axe chop would find its mark, compelled by his destiny. Those days were sacred, he told me. It had happened to him only twice; once during a siege and once while defending his village from a raid. And he had spent the night weeping in gratitude on both occasions.

‘They weren’t my hands holding the bow, Abhi. Someone, a force, was standing behind me…within me…showing me how to shoot. Taking the burden of killing all those people away from my hands.’

I looked at him curiously, almost doubting his sanity and he looked at me with pity. As if I would never understand till it happened to me.

It was happening to me now.

I was not drawing the bow or aiming the arrow. Or at least it didn’t feel like I was. Did the rest of the advance force feel it too? The enemy was falling like flies.

I was so caught up in the carnage that I didn’t notice the grey-bearded warrior, until he called out my name. It was Guru Drona. He had come up to bolster the line, by the looks of it. My knees almost buckled, and it took all the strength I had to lift my bow and acknowledge him. Guru Drona had come seeking to fight me!

I looked murderously at Bali and gestured that I would kill anyone in the Chakravyuha who came between me and Guruji.

Our chariots approached each other warily. I saw Bali, who had had the same ideas as me, hold the troops back. There were fewer of us now. Where was Uncle Bhima?

Guruji fired first, three arrows that made me duck into my chariot. I swore at myself for being so slow and got up and shot two back at him. He responded with two bolts that got me on the forearm and my shoulder plate. The old man could fight. I countered with a narrow, pointed arrow aimed at his face. It went a little higher and ripped through his helmet, causing him to fall back into his chariot.

Just as he fell, an arrow hit the side of my chariot. It was Radheya. He removed two more arrows and fired them one after another. One grazed my arm and the other scraped my breastplate. I replied with two arrows of my own.

The first arrow missed, but the second caught him square on his left shoulder. It must have been a good hit for he leaned down over to his charioteer and said something to him. The chariot turned and my third arrow hit its side. Radheya sat down, not giving me a clean shot, and his chariot scampered back into the layers of the vyuha. Drona and Radheya in one day!

I
fell back into my chariot reeling. My head bounced hard against the wooden floor. Blood sprang into my mouth and sluiced down my nose. Jayadratha’s arrows had hit me in the breastplate and helmet and knocked me down. I took a deep breath.

Our attack had failed. The gap was still closed. Bodies lay atop one another like bricks and we had to push aside our own dead to reach the enemy.

I had challenged Jayadratha. If we killed him, their spirit would die too. I had thrown an iron javelin, which cut down his chariot umbrella and had picked up another one when he shot me down.

I sat in my chariot fighting against the darkness that threatened to blanket me. This would not do. The boy was alone inside. I took another deep breath and somehow climbed back up to an upright position. My legs were weak and my eyes still a little bleary. The fall had hurt me worse than the arrows. I leaned against my chariot front and continued to suck long draughts of air. I ripped the helmet off my head and broke the arrow that had penetrated my breastplate. My stomach tensed and I felt the point of the arrow nestling into the skin. It was not a very deep wound. I would survive.

I looked back at Jayadratha and saw Bhima rush at him with a mace. Jayadratha leaped off the chariot just as Bhima slammed his mace into its side, cracking the vehicle. The horses reared in fright and the charioteer tried to run away, only to be picked off by a stray arrow.

Bhima bellowed and looked around for Jayadratha who had found another chariot. Bhima charged at him swinging his mace. This time, Jayadratha was ready with a bow. Three arrows found their mark. Bhima crashed to the ground and Jayadratha turned his attention to Chekitana who was leading a charge of his own.

A chariot came around Bhima’s body, which was still moving. It was Satyaki. He dragged him into the chariot and brought him back to our lines. I looked back in front. Chekitana’s attack had failed.

T
he arrow had torn into my shoulder. I unclasped my armour at the top and pulled the crescent tip out slowly. When we were some distance away from the fight, my charioteer drew to a stop, stepped out and put turmeric and some antiseptic herbs on the wound and covered it with a clean bandage. We made our way back towards the centre.

The scene was grim as death. Drona, Shakuni, Kritavarma and Suyodhana were all in their chariots nursing their wounds. All apparently caused by the same boy.

Drona was talking about him like a teenager describing his first time.

‘The boy is outstanding! He defeated all of us in one afternoon. Like Arjuna. Better than him at his age, I think. Who taught him, Kritavarma? What? Yes, I know the Yadavas, but who exactly?’

Dangerous talk when you’re being whipped. Shakuni and Suyodhana were silent.

He went on some more, analyzing his duel with Abhimanyu to its gory details till Suyodhana had had enough.

‘Guruji, I don’t want to hear Abhimanyu’s praises. I want to see him dead. How is it that the best bowmen in Bharatvarsha cannot bring down a boy? Stop singing his praises and go bring me his head.’

Suyodhana had crossed the line. Drona stared at him with those killing eyes and it was perhaps because of God’s own protection that Suyodhana didn’t melt or burst into a ball of flames or something equally terrible. They locked eyes for a few moments and Drona turned away in a huff.

Suyodhana had won a battle but not the one he wanted. His brother Sushasana came bounding up, enraged.

‘Brother, let me have him. I’ll tear his fucking guts out. Watch me.’

Suyodhana nodded and looked at me. He didn’t need to say anything. I picked up my bow and followed Sushasana into the fourth circle where Abhimanyu had just arrived. The trouble with the Chakravyuha was that it got weaker as one approached the centre. Keeping the front lines intact was vital to its success. If he had enough chariots, Abhimanyu could even reach the centre and if the Pandavas broke through the front then…

There was no use thinking negatively. So I made a list of what was going well for us.

Number one. Jayadratha was taking care of business up ahead.

Number two. The boy’s troops were getting tired.

I held my bow tightly praying that Jayadratha would hold fort.

Sushasana, meanwhile, had found Abhimanyu. It was a brief contest. As an archer, Sushasana was yojanas ahead of his elder brother, but still not good enough for a professional marksman. Two arrows pierced his left forearm and a third and fourth hit him in his right shoulder. Sushasana roared with futile rage and was silenced with an arrow that collided into his chest and threw him off his chariot, leaving his charioteer with the task of heaving him back into the lines.

I went in for my second round. A voice called out to me from behind.

‘Guruji, let me try first.’

I looked back. Earlier in the day, I had made sure Laxman would be nowhere near the Samsaptakas for his bloody cheekiness. I had put him far back in the sixth layer of the Chakravyuha, far away from the front.

‘Laxman, go back to the centre and join your father.’

He stood still in his chariot. His lower lip became a snarl. Even so, he turned his chariot around.

I approached Abhimanyu and this time the duel was even shorter. His first arrow broke my bow again and bloodied my left hand. This time, I didn’t even need to tell my charioteer to turn and take cover. As I retreated, an arrow swooped by me towards Abhimanyu.

Laxman, you little prick.

He covered my retreat and went forward. An Indraprastha chariot blocked his path.

The warrior fired at Laxman, who stepped away smoothly from its path and replied with an arrow which the warrior ducked to avoid. Another arrow missed Laxman, who fired a terrific shot that hit the warrior’s fingers, knocking a couple of them off. The bow fell from the warrior’s grasp and he picked up a sword and a round shield and got off his chariot even as Laxman put an arrow through the neck of his charioteer.

The warrior ran at Laxman, effortlessly dodging his arrows as they stitched the earth around him. I watched Laxman closely, wondering what he was thinking and already planning how I would kill the warrior if he got too close to my boy.

It would have been easy for the lad to retreat. The warrior would never tail the chariot on foot. But Laxman wouldn’t give up a kill so easily.

In the forests on the outskirts of Hastinapura, I had trapped a young panther and starved it for days before an archery test for my young shishya. I didn’t want him shooting toy parrots off trees, like Drona’s spoiled little charges.

They were made to face each other in a small arena. The panther, brought out of his cage, charged straight at the boy. Laxman panicked and fired four arrows that missed. Before the panther got too close, I put an arrow through its shoulder, which punctured its heart, killing it at the feet of the petrified child.

Later, I sat him down and told him how he should have approached the kill.

‘Wait for your victim to kill itself. Don’t die for your kill.’

He had smirked then at the clumsiness of the wordplay. But he seemed to have learnt the lesson.

He took his time and waited for his moment. The warrior was almost at the chariot horses when Laxman released his arrow. It stretched across the space between them and lodged in the warrior’s thigh. He spun around and fell, giving Laxman enough time to draw another arrow. Laxman waited as the warrior raised his head unsteadily, and fired an arrow that crushed the warrior’s nose and went out through the back of his head. The pain must have been terrible but the warrior didn’t scream.

I was so proud of Laxman. He could take on Arjuna. He could take on a hundred like him.