The Thirteenth Day (22 page)

‘I’m sorry for all the sadness in your life that has come because of me. As a mother, all I can ask of you is that you show some mercy to your brothers in the war.’

‘I’ll try.’

What else could I say? That I was going to hunt down every one of her sons and give them a painful end?

I gave her a namaskaram and walked away without looking back.

M
y shoulder had received a light cut, nothing that wouldn’t heal in a couple of days. Another scar ran across my thigh like a road wrapped around a mountain. A Trigarta had slashed down with his scimitar and ripped my dhoti as I twisted away from its arc. The curved blade kissed my skin very briefly but was enough to bloody it and leave a line running around my leg. Other than that I was fine.

If Father was to be believed, I had almost died.

I was furious with him after he had interfered in my battle with the Trigarta platoon. I told Sumitra to overtake his chariot into their lines. We charged with all the pace the horses could muster and broke through their front, running over many of them. My bow was out and I fired at anything I could find. I soon realized my mistake because we were isolated, with no support either from chariots or the infantry. I removed an axe and hacked at the Trigarta infantry who howled and tried jumping onto the chariot that was moving as fast as Sumitra and the horses could make it. Our progress began to slow. Sumitra finally turned us around to retreat and was nearly impaled by a javelin that smashed through the chariot rim and would have taken my crotch had I not skipped sideways. A Trigarta tried to step on the chariot plank and I planted a blow on his head for his effort. Another one ran side by side with us till I cleaved his neck with a side stroke.

At this point, the warrior with the scimitar entered the scene. He stepped onto the running chariot and slashed wildly at my thigh. He wasn’t able to finish the job as an arrow took him in the back of his head. He slunk to the ground mouthing some nonsense and I kicked him off.

Father had arrived. And just in time too. His chariot troop had formed a neat diamond and was discharging arrows with arithmetic precision. Father’s skill with the bow was known in every gutter of Bharatvarsha. He had shot a fish suspended fifty feet in the air, in the eye, by looking at its reflection in the water, so the story went. I had tried to perform the same stunt and had never succeeded. In my childhood, I used to believe that the fact that he drew the bow with his left hand was the reason he was able to shoot so accurately, and had spent many nights secretly lifting weights with my left hand, trying to strengthen it till Krishna caught me in the act.

‘Don’t make your weaknesses weaker. Make your strengths stronger, child,’ he had told me, ruffling my hair and setting down the weight-training mace in the training pit.

His words came back as I saw Father shoot a Trigarta, who was a sword’s strike away from him, in the face. I had never seen him fight with anything but a bow. To engage him in close combat was rare because he was just too fast with the bow. Only on one occasion had I seen him swing his bow like a staff, at an axeman who had gotten too close. He never carried any weapon other than several quivers of arrows, which he would run through like a depressed poet through parchment. It wasn’t uncommon for him to ask for quiverfuls of arrows from nearby chariots when his own supply was depleted. Father had taken his single strength and had amplified it beyond measure, till it did not matter what his other deficiencies were.

He went past me without a glance in my direction. The king of the Trigartas charged towards him on his chariot, firing arrows in his general direction, but with no real accuracy. Father dodged them with little effort and when they were a horse’s-length away from each other, he brought out a flat-headed arrow with no point, and shot him square in the face.

The Trigarta king fell out of his chariot as it rattled by.
A group of soldiers picked him up and dragged him back to safety.

Just when Father was about to hunt him out, a courier rode into their midst. He stopped with great effort and panted out a message to Father. Father spoke briefly to Uncle Sahadeva who was nearby, and made his way out to the back. Uncle took his place and resumed the attack. They wouldn’t call Father back unless there was something seriously wrong in another sector. I was tempted to join him, but thought against it. There were enough people to kill out here.

I regretted it later when I found out that he had gone and killed old Bhagadatta and saved our flank from being overwhelmed by the Kauravas.

I was kicking myself in my tent when he came in and began scolding me. He had called me impatient and went on about waiting for my chance and not learning anything from yesterday. I nodded dully and assured him of my obedience. He walked away disgusted.

It was all right for him to talk. The bards would be making money off him for centuries. Stories about him that we didn’t even know about were already being sung. And that was all before the Kurukshetra war. If we won here on these plains, he would be famous for eternity.

I took a walk to clear my head. The evening breeze was cool. The sky was purple and torches would not be needed for some more time. I found myself drifting towards Shikhandi’s tent yet again. She would know what to do.

‘Do what they tell you to,’ was her simple advice.

She was writing a letter and didn’t look up when she said this.

‘I am, aren’t I? It’s not working. I don’t see why they can’t use me better.’

This made her stop writing and look up.

‘You poor little child hero with no one to kill. Whatever’s going to happen to you?’

‘Stop that. You don’t understand. I should never have come.’

I turned to exit when she spoke.

‘Don’t play victim with me, Abhimanyu. And don’t think I don’t know how you or any of the young fools in the army feel about proving themselves. All I’m saying is, there is a journey. You need to prove yourself in the eyes of your elders and superiors. You need to prove that you will not be a threat to their ambitions. That you will follow their instructions without succumbing to your own, at this point insignificant, emotions. Once you have done that, you will have come of age—when you become what
they
want you to become. And only then will you be given the freedom to do what you want.’

‘What you’re saying is that I should just become a toy soldier, winded up and played with at someone else’s whim?’

‘You don’t have to be anything you don’t want, Abhi. But you have to accept that the only way you will get your chance is by keeping the people around you happy.’

I shrugged and walked out.

I didn’t need her cynicism. I wondered what had ever possessed me to seek comfort from her. With nothing left to do, I went back into my tent.

I wrote some rubbish to Mother and went to bed.

M
y eyes opened. They took in the ceiling of the tent and my brain goaded my body out of bed. A cold bath with tulsi leaves got the blood cantering.

Summons had been sent late last night for an early-morning council meeting. I walked quickly to the tent and was pleasantly surprised to find that I was the last one in. Drona held a cup of steaming liquid in his hand and was talking animatedly to Suyodhana. They appeared calmer than yesterday. Shakuni sat in a corner munching a piece of jaggery, not talking to anyone. He looked better too.

I went up to Drona and he smiled tiredly at me…for the first time, perhaps ever.

‘We were waiting for you, putra. Let’s begin.’

He took the Speaking Staff and knocked it on the ground till everyone was looking at him.

‘For the past two days, I have been blamed for the failure of this army.’

The allies began to protest.

‘No, no. It’s true. Settle down. Till yesterday, it was claimed my formations were not strong enough or smart enough to outmanoeuvre the Pandavas.’

Now, they stood silent, not knowing how to react.

‘I’d like to see anyone say that today.’

He paused for effect, and began again.

‘Today, we shall split our forces. One half, under King Susharma, will consist of the Trigartas, the Kambojas, Gandharas and the northern tribes along with the tribes from the east. They will occupy our left flank, formed as a crescent. Susharma, like yesterday, your job will be to draw out Arjuna and keep him occupied. We’ll have to work on that personal challenge of yours. Remind me before we get on the field.’

‘Arjuna will make his way to the left and divide their forces. This is where the the fun begins. The right flank, till then, will be a wall of shields which will conceal troop movements behind it. When the battle starts they will break away and run to the back. Behind them will be a second formation.’

He rolled out a diagram and showed it to the allies.

‘It’s called the Chakravyuha. Radheya, will you come and talk about this, please.’

I slowly walked up to Drona and took the staff from him. He patted me on the back as he released it.

‘Thank you, sire. The vyuha is the work of obscure military theorists who have tried to conceive a new way of deploying forces. Not too many people have read about it. I myself chanced upon a manuscript of it at a raid in the southern territories a year or so back. I completely forgot about it, till last night.

‘Imagine an onion. Now see it peeled, unravelling layer after layer till the centre is exposed. And you have the basic principle behind the Chakravyuha. The formation is a circular one. The outermost layer will have a shield wall of infantry that will protect chariots carrying archers positioned behind them.

‘This will spiral into another layer made up similarly. All together there will be seven concentric layers around the centre. As they march forward, the troops will be ordered, every few minutes, to take seven steps to their right. This will make the vyuha appear as if it’s turning in a circle like a wheel, disorienting our enemies.’

I paused here and waited for them to catch up.

‘The outermost layer will have an opening to let the enemy troops into the vyuha. When they enter, we will grind them piecemeal. The only way for the enemy to exit each layer of the vyuha would be to punch through it, which will take them into another layer. Followed by another, and another, wearing them down till there is no more left of them.

‘One more thing—elephants will be kept in reserve today. This is a delicate formation that cannot be ruined by clumsy trampling.’

I looked at the faces. They were calculating their potential losses, no doubt.

‘Questions?’

A king from a southern kingdom raised his hand. I flung the staff towards him.

‘Is there a way to counter this formation? And would the Pandavas know about it?’

‘There is only one way to break the vyuha. And that is from the inside. We have to clamp off as many of their troops as possible at each layer and not allow them to reach the centre. If they are able to send a steady stream of troops into our centre, they will be able to rip us open. Imagine a thumb in an orange. As for the Pandavas knowing how to tackle the formation, to the best of my knowledge, Arjuna may know of its existence. But not in any great detail for sure. Shalya here claims that he mentioned it casually a couple of times to him when the families were at peace. I know for certain that if he knew about it in any detail, they would have used it on us ten days ago.’

This was welcomed by laughter.

‘But whether or not he knows, there’s no reason we should take a chance. That is why Susharma and his Trigartas and the others will have to occupy his attention and pin him and his akshauhinis down till the Chakravyuha rolls up the Pandava flank like a blanket. Once this is done, we’ll hit Arjuna’s forces from the side, and he won’t have the numbers to counter us.’

Another hand went up. The staff was passed over.

‘Do we still capture Yudhishthira?’

I had discussed this with Drona last night.

‘It’s imprudent to waste three days trying to capture one man,’ he had said.

‘Not if it ends the war,’ I had argued. ‘I saw the bills this morning. Our expenditure on food itself will run us into debt for the next ten years. We can’t wait till the death of every one of us. We have to win this now.’