SIXTY-ONE
The days of this monsoon were the happiest Arjuna had known in a long time. True, Draupadi was his first love; yet, Panchali did not belong only to him, but his brothers as well. Arjuna had changed during his lonely journey through Bharatavarsha. It was the first time he had been apart from his brothers and his mother for so long. He had grown to become a man, his own man.
Subhadra found herself drawn powerfully to the yati; but he was an ascetic and sworn to brahmacharya. Any woman was an obstacle on his chosen path: she could only impede his progress. Yet, despite herself, Subhadra felt an impossible attraction for him.
She wanted to be with him, as much as she could; she told herself she was only carrying out her brothers' instructions. If her heart beat faster than she had ever known it to, when she was near the yati, or when she caught him looking at her from across the garden with his intense eyes, that was her affair. She could not help herself and she was the only one who knew about it.
Did the yati know, or suspect, how she felt? She could not tell; but she noticed that, whenever she was in the garden, he did not meditate but turned his gaze on her. Once or twice, she fancied he stared at her in a most wanton manner; but then, she knew better.
At first, crowds of people would come to Subhadra's garden to meet the yati. Balarama told everyone he saw to go and seek this sannyasi's blessing. Arjuna grew annoyed at the lines that formed outside the princess' palace. He complained to Krishna and the Dark One forbade any more visitors. He said the yati must have time for the tapasya for which he had come, which would bless them all if only they would leave him to it.
Uncannily, those first few days when the people came, real miracles did occur in Dwaraka: the sick were healed, the despondent regained cheer. Balarama said triumphantly to Krishna, "Didn't I tell you at one look he was a holy man? And you were worried to leave him alone with Subhadra!"
When word of his own powers filtered back to Arjuna, he was puzzled. Then he realized the miracles must be Krishna's doing. He was relieved when Krishna announced the yati had taken mowna, a vow of silence, to pray for the world.
Another name was renowned in Dwaraka, long before the yati arrived: the name of Arjuna the Pandava was a legend in the city of the Yadavas. In schools of archery, youngsters were told, "You must become as good as Arjuna."
"If you are half the archer Arjuna is, you will be a great bowman."
When children fought among themselves, they would puff up their chests and cry, "Not even Arjuna is as good as I am! What chance does a worm like you stand against me?"
When Yadava elders blessed their grandchildren, they would lay a hand on the young ones' heads and say, "May you grow up to be like Arjuna."
When a woman was expecting a child, the older women of the family would crack their knuckles against their heads, to ward off the evil eye and say, "May you have a son like Arjuna!"
It was in this city Subhadra had grown up and she had been infatuated with Arjuna ever since she could remember. When she was a little older, Krishna would tell her about their cousin: how noble he was and how lovable, because there was still a child in him though he was such a great kshatriya. Then, there was her cousin Gada who knew Arjuna since he was a boy. Gada painted the Pandava in the most romantic colors. This was not out of any sense of mischief: Gada implicitly believed these cousins of his were born for each other.
Rukmini of Vidarbha had fallen in love with Krishna before she ever laid eyes on him. So it was with Subhadra: she had given her heart to Arjuna. Since she was a girl, she would make it a point to meet any traveler from the north, at first from Hastinapura and later from Indraprastha. She would press them for any scraps she could glean about her secret flame. She knew the Pandavas had married Draupadi; but this only excited her strangely and she loved Arjuna even more. She would lie awake at night, tormenting herself with visions of the dark Panchali in his arms. It was delicious torment.
So now, when she felt these powerful stirrings whenever she was near the mysterious yati, Subhadra was dismayed. After all, her heart had been given long ago, to Arjuna. She told herself her frustrated love for Arjuna had turned into a spiritual inclination. If she could not have the Pandava, she would renounce the world: hence, her attraction for the yati.
One day she sat with the yati, in a companionable silence. She had just brought him his morning meal and she sat daydreaming of Arjuna. She had developed this queer habit since the yati came to her garden; whenever she was with him, she found her mind turned ineluctably to thoughts of Arjuna.
Suddenly, she realized why this was so: she had begun to impose the image of the yati onto her fantasies of Arjuna! She gave a shiver when she caught herself doing this. Then, it struck her, 'What if he is Arjuna?'
Near her the yati sat very still, breathing evenly, smiling slightly from a deep wellbeing that might have been mistaken for spiritual bliss. In fact, he was surreptitiously inhaling the delicate scent of her body and was intoxicated with it. She was glad that, today, he had not turned his burning gaze on her; then, she would grow confused and breathless and excuse herself quickly. This morning the yati was serene and she could gaze comfortably at him out of the tail of her eye.
She gazed and she thought, 'All the descriptions I've heard of Arjuna fit the yati perfectly, except for the beard and the jata.'
She tried to imagine him without the beard and jata: he could well be Arjuna! Subhadra looked at the yati's chest. It was a warrior's deep chest and his arms were muscled, too strong to be a brahmana's arms. She looked raptly at him, the conviction growing on her that he was Arjuna; which would explain so much, especially her own feelings. His shawl slipped from his shoulders and she almost cried out when she saw abrasions not just on one arm, but on both: marks of a bowstring! Subhadra knew Arjuna was ambidextrous.
Then, she told herself angrily, 'Arjuna is no sannyasi! I am losing my mind over this yati. He cannot be Arjuna, however much I would like him to.'
Yet, the nagging suspicions, or hope, persisted. One day, unable to bear it any more, she decided to have this thing out with the disturbing hermit.
"Swami, they say you have traveled the length and breadth of Bharatavarsha. Tell me about some of the places you saw, specially the tirthas."
It was a beginning. In good time, she would steer the conversation round to the matter in her heart. As Krishna had warned Balarama, the yati was an eloquent man. He was happy to describe his wanderings through the land of Bharata, dwelling on each tirtha he had visited and the journey to it. At least, she was near him while he kept this up.
It became a habit with both of them: after the morning meal, Subhadra sat with the yati and he described every outlandish place in which he had been. She grew more absorbed than ever in the yati. Occasionally, she would ask him a probing question and he would answer with a smile. He did not realize where this was leading, until one morning, out of the blue she asked, "My lord, have you ever been to Indraprastha?"
He gave a slight start. "I have been in marvelous Indraprastha."
"Do you know the king Yudhishtira and his mother? Kunti Devi is our aunt and the Pandavas are our cousins."
"Indeed, I know them well," said the yati quietly.
Not looking at him, Subhadra said, "I hear my cousin Arjuna is on a pilgrimage not unlike your own. Have you perhaps encountered him on your travels?"
The yati seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then he turned to face her. "I know Arjuna. If you are curious about him, I can tell you where he is at this moment and why."
He was staring at her and she felt weak. In a low voice, she asked, "Where is he?"
For another interminable moment, the yati waited, still staring as if he would drink her into his soul with his eyes. Then, he whispered, "Arjuna has fallen in love with the most beautiful woman in the world and he has disguised himself as a yati to be near her."
Subhadra began to tremble. He leaned forward quickly and took her hand. "Haven't you known me yet, my love? I am Arjuna. Subhadra, marry me! I can't live without you."
He pulled her to him and kissed her like fire. With a cry, she jumped up and fled.
From that day, Subhadra fell ill. She stayed in her bed, burning with fever. She was listless and anxious, as if she had a deep shock, or as if she stood at some yawning threshold of her life and was terrified to cross it.
When the princess no longer came out to see him in the garden, Arjuna confessed to Krishna what had happened. Krishna felt it was best if he did not meet her for some time. He consoled the Pandava, saying all the signs were favorable: Subhadra also certainly loved him, but he must be patient for a few days.
The next day, Krishna set a subtle plan in motion. He sent Rukmini to meet Arjuna. When the yati saw a woman's figure approaching him across the cloistered garden, he thought it was Subhadra. He jumped up and ran to her; his face fell when Rukmini uncovered her head.
Rukmini laughed. "I am sorry to disappoint you, holy one! I have come to tell you that Subhadra is unwell and wastes from a mysterious illness that no physician in Dwaraka can fathom. Perhaps, a yati has the remedy for my sister-in-law's illness? Krishna thinks you do."
A teasing smile never left her face and poor Arjuna felt acutely embarrassed.
Now she said more seriously, "Krishna asks you to be ready to abduct our Subhadra. He will let you know when." She flashed another smile. "I didn't know that holy yatis kidnapped young women!"
And Rukmini left Arjuna alone and terribly restless.