The Thirteenth Day (10 page)

I
t was a beautiful morning. The sky was a happy blue, undisturbed by clouds. A light wind was blowing, the kind that makes its presence felt without seeking your attention. The earth, it appeared, was a satisfied spectator to our little games.

The day’s battle hadn’t started well for us. Bhagadatta’s monsters had scattered our army like wood shavings in the wind. Reports from the front indicated that Bhima was falling short of men to contain them with. It was a good opportunity to recommend that one of the Panchala princes and a regiment or two be sent to buttress my brother. After much reluctance, Dhristadyumna agreed and Drupada insisted that he be allowed to lead the regiment, having heard that Virata had also insisted on making his way up ahead.

Drupada didn’t have to go too far, however, as I saw Supritika, a little distance ahead, tearing off the head of an unfortunate chariot warrior spraying his gore across the men around her. She was a sight. A monster of a she-elephant whom nature had chosen to endow with four tusks in place of two. Supritika was clad from tusks to toenails in expensive silver-coloured iron armour that could finance the services of an ankini of mercenaries. Her iron helmet had Bhagadatta’s Pragjyotisha lightning bolt battle standard etched on it and was lined with large iron spikes. While most elephants were required not to wear much armour on their legs as it restricted their movements, Bhagadatta also insisted on providing Supritika with iron leggings.

From what I had seen in the past ten days, it didn’t slow her down much.

Drupada and his regiment of Panchala chariots wheeled around and headed towards Supritika’s flank. A troop of Kaurava chariots saw them coming and intercepted them before they were able to surprise her. Drupada emerged from the fray, got off his chariot and called out, ‘Bhagadatta, come down and fight if you have the balls.’

He went on for a few moments, raving like a man on bhang.

Drupada took out his sword—the Naraka dristhi, which means ‘Vision of Hell’. Thirty-five inches of good Panchala iron that the king had exhausted his vocabulary describing. Iron was the future, he said, and Panchala would be at the heart of the arms trade when this war was done. As part of his alliance benefits, he was to secure the kingdom of Anga which he believed to be a potentially great centre of iron production.

Bhagadatta stood up and yawned.

He bent over from his howdah and said something to his beast. She lowered herself to let her master off. A small circle was created by soldiers of both armies with Bhagadatta and Drupada in the centre. From my perch on the chariot, I peered from a distance into the makeshift ring, sharing everyone’s morbid curiosity.

He looked at least a hundred, and I suspect that wasn’t too far off the mark. But he certainly didn’t act his age. Palace gossip in Pragjyotisha put his consumption of liquor to be at least twelve jars of unwatered sura in the day. That and two women in his chambers at night were offered as explanation for the wrinkle lines that circuited merrily across his face.

Both men squared off each other and then with quickness I never knew he had, Drupada flattened his sword and thrust it into Bhagadatta’s armour.

Except Bhagadatta wasn’t there.

The old king of Pragjyotisha had learned to wield his sword from an obscure mountain tribe in Chin beyond the mountains of the north. He favoured a short sword, nearly half the size of Drupada’s, along with the sceptre he used to goad Supritika. His stance was not classical and he kept weaving from one direction to another, never still for more than a moment. Drupada thrust unsuccessfully again, and hacked to his right and left. Bhagadatta danced out of range and darted back in. A few more inconclusive chops followed and then a desperate lunge. Bhagadatta, moving with the reflexes of a much younger man, twisted away from the blow, planted himself on one knee and presented a backhander of his own, slicing upwards, and cutting Drupada across his armpit which was unprotected by his armour. An instant later he had rotated on his knee and delivered a sharp blow with his pommel to the back of Drupada’s knee, taking him off his feet.

Drupada lay on his back with Bhagadatta’s sword at his neck. The fight was over, it appeared. All that remained was for Bhagadatta to end it formally. Instead, he lifted the Naraka Drishti, which was lying close by, and proceeded to snap it viciously across his knee, looking into Drupada’s eyes all the time. Drupada squirmed and tried to get up and found Bhagadatta’s sword back at his neck.

Before he was able to strike, a troop of Panchalans forced their way into the fighting circle, distracting Bhagadatta. Drupada squirmed out from under him, and for the second time in the last few moments, displayed agility I never thought him capable of. He escaped to join his Panchala troops.

Bhagadatta climbed back on Supritika and we heard his voice from atop the beast, ‘Next time bring a sword to a fight, not a walking stick, you senile fool.’

I went around and found my father-in-law sitting on the back of a chariot in a terrible mood.

Being on the losing side of a fight and alive was never quite acceptable to Kshatriyas. And given that my family included Bhima and Arjuna, I didn’t have much experience in consoling defeated warriors. I left him to the care of his troops.

T
he messenger galloped into our midst and nearly fell off his horse.

‘Bha…Bhaga…’

I gestured to him to calm down and catch his breath.

‘Lord Bhagadatta’s elephants have been pushed back. Lord Radheya is in front, supported by the Kambojas.’

‘And my father?’

‘Sorry, my Lord, I’m not fully sure...some soldiers believe he has penetrated the Kaurava formation.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Yes, my Lord, er…also the commander-in-chief believes it is too early to commit reserves and requests you to stay your ground.’

I dismissed the messenger. Leaving me in the reserves while Bhagadatta and Radheya slaughtered our armies demonstrated Dhristadyumna’s lack of vision. My place was up ahead. It made no sense to waste me in the back with the rest of this unambitious lot. I looked around me. The men stood listlessly in the sun. A few kings on their chariots were chatting with their staff. No one seemed concerned about the war going on in front.

There was no future in this.

I told my charioteer, an old hand who insisted on treating me like a favourite nephew and went by the name of Sumitra, to take us forward.

I looked back at Shikhandi commanding the reserves. She saw me breaking rank, but looked away.

I reached the centre of our army fairly quickly and located Uncle Yudhishthira looking nervously out front. The Pragjyotisha elephants had retired, their place being taken by rows of chariots. Uncle drummed the front of his chariot. The anxiety was evident in his eyes. He was not meant for this, my uncle. With his slight pot belly and dreamy eyes, he looked more like a poet than a warrior. He was my eldest uncle but his general look of helplessness made him seem like the youngest.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be in the back?’ he asked distractedly.

I nodded but didn’t say anything, looking ahead at Radheya’s chariots. I could spot him at a distance. They spoke well of him…a dangerous man on the field. But I could see nothing that set him apart. He wore a plain grey armour and white dhoti. A dark stubble and unimpressive features made him look even more like a common foot soldier.

Dhristadyumna approached us and spoke to Yudhishthira, ‘Why is he here?’

Yudhishthira shrugged and said, ‘Perhaps he wants to slake his thirst for blood a little.’

‘I have no shortage of men wanting to die. When his turn comes, I’ll be glad to send him.’

Dhristadyumna then turned to me. ‘Go back. You’ll get your chance soon.’

Yudhishthira gave me an apologetic half-grin, ending the conversation.

I turned around and headed back a little distance.

Then I told Sumitra to stop. Without my asking, he spurred the chariot around towards the front discreetly, away from my commander-in-chief or my uncle. As usual, he was the only one who understood me.

The Kaurava chariots were moving slowly, protected by platoons of foot soldiers grinding down everything in their path. I fixed my gaze on an isolated chariot on the far right and headed towards it. He was a young nobleman, not much older than me, wearing bronze armour and a lapis-lazuli-encrusted helmet and earrings. I reached back and pulled out a short bow that I used for high-power close-range shots. Two arrows took down his battle standard that had the sun inscribed on it and punctured his breastplate. He didn’t flinch and came at me with a few shots of his own, nearly taking off Sumitra’s head with one. I felt a sharp twinge of pain flit across my right arm as an arrow missed its mark. Another one cracked my bow, nearly taking a finger. Sumitra rushed our chariot into him to prevent him from taking another shot. I picked up a short sword and shield from my chariot armoury and jumped off.

A foot soldier with a spear lunged at me. I avoided the blow and thrust the sword into his neck. There was no time to give him a clean death. I walked quickly towards the nobleman. He got off his chariot and ran at me with a long two-handed blade swinging downwards. I dodged the blow comfortably. Good with a bow, but a pedestrian slasher with the sword. I would wear him out.

He hacked and thrust at me, shattering my shield with one huge strike and jarring my left arm. I continued to move around, not committing myself to a thrust or swipe, letting him tire out. Sure enough, after a little while, his swings became rounder and less focused. He was finished. I side-stepped a half-hearted lunge and smashed my pommel into his back. He fell down heavily. Three soldiers armed with swords came to thwart my kill. I hacked off the first one’s hand as he thrust towards me. I caught the second one in the belly as he tried to swing his sword overhead. The third soldier was in two minds whether to attack or not, so I obliged by grasping his hand holding the sword and struck heavily on his neck. In the meantime, the nobleman had crawled to his chariot and was trying to catch his breath.

I walked over to him.

‘Whom do I have the honour of killing?’ He had fought well.

‘Paurava of Purushapura. Make it quick.’

His charioteer ran towards me, arms flailing and was impaled by my sword for his efforts. Paurava spat at me, ‘He was defenceless, you bastard.’

I lifted him up by his neck and met the hatred of his gaze with an equal measure of solemnity.

‘No one here is defenceless.’

I cracked his nose with my pommel and ripped off his helmet for his insolence. He had long hair by which I held him and hit him several times in the face till he was senseless. I cut off the straps of his armour and dragged him back to my chariot by his hair. The men cheered while he pawed at my hands weakly.

A javelin flew past me from behind. Someone wanted my attention. I turned around and saw a chariot sporting the battle standard of a peacock. Its owner stepped off and spoke with a harsh, guttural voice.

‘Let the boy go. Fight me.’

I cut open Paurava’s neck and left him to find his end. The new arrival was a man of moderate build. He carried a beautiful concave shield which had a peacock emblem on its face and was bordered by rows of little bells. I picked up a small shield lying on the ground and walked slowly towards him.

‘As you wish, Lord…?’

His face remained expressionless.

‘Jayadratha of Sindhu.’

He dropped his guard for an instant, and I took a chance and rushed at him, slamming into his chest with my right shoulder. He fell back, winded. I cut at him, but he rolled backwards and got back on his feet. I prepared for his attack and he whirled in with a cry of anger and slashed long fluent strokes in the air. I avoided his blows and fought back by delivering two simultaneous blows—a descending chop followed by a thrust. He escaped both and managed to find my skin with his sword. I lunged at him, and he thrust his sword savagely at my shield.

It went straight through.

I took a step back. The sword stuck its tongue out at me from within the shield. We both stopped, surprised. I silently thanked the Gods for cheap shields and expensive iron blades. Jayadratha decided against retrieving his sword and with impossible dignity turned his back to me and walked to his chariot.

I stood there gaping like a fool at my shield. Had I won the duel or lost it? A javelin cast at me for the second time in the day broke my reverie. It missed me by inches and fixed itself into the mud a little distance away. I walked over and picked it up. It was made of iron with gold work on the shaft and a large blue stone in the centre of its blade—an expensive weapon to squander. Its owner approached from afar upon his chariot.

I picked up the javelin and faced my third duel of the day. The shaft was heavy, but had a beautiful balance to it. A killing man’s weapon. I took lazy aim and hurled it in the general direction of my aggressor. It went cleanly through his charioteer, pinning him onto the chariot face.

A round of cheers greeted this act. I looked back to see Shikhandi beaming at me. So the reserve contingent had finally come out of hiding.