FOUR
The Pandavas had imagined the thirteenth year of exile would be the hardest. They found themselves happy and occupied in the kindly Virata's court. Bheema was delighted to be back in a city; somehow, from here Hastinapura and Indraprastha did not seem so far.
Virata was already very fond of the strangers he had taken into his service and by some miracle, he never thought of connecting them to one another. In the fourth month of their ajnatavasa, there occurred an incident in the Matsya capital that made Ballava the cook a greater favorite than ever with the king.
It was a festival day, when Siva was worshipped in the city. There was a tournament of wrestling and contestants came from all over Bharatavarsha to show their prowess. Virata's wrestlers were renowned for their skill and strength and one of them had never failed to take the prize. This year things were not going well for them.
On the very morning of the wrestling, a sullen giant of a wrestler arrived in the city, from a distant land whose name no one had heard. The judges asked him, "Who are you, stranger?"
Grinning insolently, he replied, "I am Jimuta and know that I am the greatest wrestler in the world and none of your puny fighters can face me. I am as strong as ten lions, so let every wrestler in Virata beware!"
He declared all this standing in the middle of the arena and never bowing to the king. Some of Virata's courtiers said among themselves, "A great braggart, anyway. We shall see if his wrestling matches his boasting."
But it did. No one could face the huge stranger for more than a few moments. His strength was hardly human and he crushed Virata's best wrestlers. He was savage in victory, always breaking an arm or a leg of all his opponents, needlessly, after he had beaten them. Soon no one dared fight him and the rough fellow stood unchallenged in the ring.
Virata was beside himself. The wrestler's conceit was intolerable, but he seemed invincible too. The king turned to Kanka, the ascetic gambler who sat at his right hand. "Is there no one in all this kingdom who can beat this arrogant man?" the king whispered, his kindly eyes glittering in anger.
Kanka said quietly, "But there is, my lord; in your very kitchen. When both he and I were in Yudhishtira's court at Indraprastha, I had occasion to see the friendly fellow wrestle. This lout is no match for your cook Ballava."
Bheema had said earlier to the king, "My lord, I shall have a busy day in the kitchen preparing the feast. You must not ask me to come to wrestle, or the food will not be as it should."
Though he longed to fight, Bheema was anxious lest he was recognized. Virata was disappointed; but he thought of Bheema more as a cook than a wrestler and made no point of it.
But now he said to Kanka, "Let Ballava be fetched from his kitchen. This is a matter of honor. I would hate to see the foreigner win our tournament."
Bheema was brought to Virata's enclosure and the king said, "Ballava, Kanka tells me you can teach this braggart a lesson. Fight for the honor of the Matsyas today."
Though he would have loved nothing better, Bheema hesitated. With a glance at the swaggering wrestler in the ring, he knew he could beat him, but he had learnt a lesson of caution from twelve years of exile.
Then, Kanka said, "You mustn't refuse the king today, Ballava. He has been so kind to you that no price should be too high to pay in return."
A flicker in the cook's eyes at this; Ballava bowed and said, "I will fight for the honor of the Matsyas today and may Siva bless me."
The king had it announced that a challenger would wrestle with the brute in the ring. The giant laughed. Jimuta called out, "Have you found another fool to risk himself for you? I am the greatest wrestler on earth. I have my strength from a rishi's blessing and no one in the world can fight me. I have torn tigers limb from limb and brought a bull-elephant to his knees with a blow of my fist. What man can stand against me? I am the mightiest!"
He smote his chest, across which he wore a tiger-skin and roared like a tiger himself.
The king said, "Stranger, we don't dispute your strength. But we have a man in our court who will beat you."
The wrestler growled, "The world acknowledges that I am the greatest wrestler of these times. No champion has lasted more than a few moments against me. I say to you, your challenger will not leave the arena alive. So make your choice: either give me the reward, or have your wrestler's death on your conscience!"
He strutted around the ring again, roaring from time to time. The king was very fond of his cook Ballava. He blanched to hear the wrestler's threat and turned to Kanka in some alarm. Kanka laid a hand on Virata's arm and said, "Have no fear. Your cook is more than this braggart's equal."
"Where does your challenger come from, Virata?" cried the wrestler.
"From my kitchen. My cook is more of a wrestler than you are!" answered Virata warmly.
The arena echoed with the lout's laughter. Then, clad in a black singlet, his body oiled and shining, Ballava stepped into the ring like a lion. He wore a crimson mask over his face. The crowd stood up to cheer him.
The king also rose and cried, "This is my cook Ballava and he will teach you a lesson, O greatest wrestler in the world!"
Jimuta gave a start when he saw Bheema. He knew this was no common cook that came to fight him. The foreigner could tell at a glance that he was no common wrestler either. And why did his heart flutter as if death had stepped into the arena with him? But, repressing the stab of fear, the champion roared at Bheema, "Fool, go back to your pots and pans or I will break your neck for you!"
Bheema said nothing. He bowed to the king and approached the smoldering wrestler. Their gazes met and locked. It was as if they already strained together, limb against mighty limb. The crowd fell hushed and you could hear the breeze in the leaves of the palace trees. Both at once, the outsider and Bheema bent at the waist and began to circle each other.
Never touching they circled; their arms were extended before them and every muscle in their bodies was taut. To the crowd, it seemed as if they were dancers in a weird play. They circled ten or, perhaps, twenty times and then the foreigner's courage faltered. He cried, "Stop circling, cook! Let us have done with it."
Jimuta lowered his head like a bison and charged Bheema. Later, those who watched remembered vividly what happened next. For, though it happened so swiftly that it was all over in a moment, it seemed time dilated herself so every detail was engraved on the people's memories.
The wild charge was a technique the wrestler had used against his other adversaries. He had knocked them down and battered them into submission before they got their breath back.
But when he struck Bheema, with awesome force, it was as if he struck a rock. The cook did not so much as sway at the impact; instead, the wrestler staggered back stunned. In a flash, Bheema seized him and lifted him over his head. He whirled the giant around thrice and flung him down, head first, like a thunderbolt, driving his neck into his thick body, crushing his skull, killing him instantly.
There was a moment's awed silence; then the crowd was on its feet, running into the arena to embrace Ballava. The people yelled his name and carried him aloft on a sea of shoulders. Finally, he managed to free himself and cried, "Let me go, friends. I have fifty dishes on the fire and they will all burn!"
Ballava bowed to king Virata, who was also on his feet, applauding and Kanka the gambler was beside him, his eyes shining. His task accomplished, the cook ran back to his fires. Through it all, even when he received the new champion's generous purse, he kept his crimson mask in place.
From then on, Ballava became a favorite not just with king Virata but the people of his city. And the feast he produced that day did not suffer a bit from the short while he was away from his kitchen.