EIGHT
The next day, at noon, Jarasandha led Bheema to a courtyard in his palace and a wrestling-pit full of white river-sand. The Magadhan said, "Which weapon do you prefer?"
"The mace," replied Bheema.
A selection of the finest maces was fetched and Jarasandha allowed Bheema first choice. Krishna smiled, "It is a pity you flung away the mace that made you invincible. I have it in my palace in Dwaraka."
"I am still invincible, cowherd. And that mace will shortly be mine again and your Dwaraka with it."
It was time to begin and, maces clutched in hands powerful as thunderbolts, the giant combatants began to circle each other. The sieved sand sparkled like crushed diamonds under their feet. With a roar that welled from his belly, Bheema struck out wildly at Jarasandha's head. Quicker than the eye, the king evaded the stroke and Bheema staggered forward a step.
In a flash, Jarasandha swung a sharp half-blow at him from behind. It crashed into Bheema's back and he almost fell; and if he had fallen, Jarasandha's next blow would have killed him. But the legs of the son of the wind were as strong as trees. Bheema swiveled on his heels and struck back at Jarasandha: a looping blow that began near the Pandava's feet, curved up and took the Magadhan smartly on his arm, fetching a cry from him.
Jarasandha roared, "You are strong, Pandava! And not half as dull as you look. This may turn out to be a better fight than I had thought."
Bheema kept his eyes fixed on his adversary's, ignoring what he said, just as his master had taught him to. The eye, Balarama had told him, never lies. Like two beasts from the earth's dim past, they circled in tense ritual, always seeking an opening to strike at. It would be an instant's relaxation, a fleeting weakness: that was all, because these two were great mace-fighters. But that moment was all they would need to make a kill.
Patiently, they circled. After his first blind swing, no further rashness came from Bheema. The thought sobered him that, if he had fallen, it would have been an end to everything. As they circled, they seemed to grow in stature, until they towered over the white arena.
Like summer lightning, Jarasandha aimed a savage stroke at Bheema's chest. Now Bheema was a blur of evasion and, quick as thinking, he struck back at the Magadhan. Just in time, Jarasandha raised his mace-head, saving his face. The two maces burst apart with the force of that blow and Jarasandha's laughter rang through his palace.
"Well done, Pandava! I shall enjoy this duel. Fetch us more maces. Or would you rather fight hand to hand?"
Bheema stood there and not a word out of him. But his eyes shone as brightly as Jarasandha's. He raised his arms in front of his chest to show he was ready to fight barehanded. Again, they circled, warily, changing their inner rhythms, adapting to the new form of combat. They knew it would be a serious mistake to imagine that fighting barehanded would be less dangerous than with maces. Both kshatriyas' hands were weapons hardened with years of striking rocks, crushing them. A blow from those hands could fell not just a man, but an elephant.
Meanwhile, their roars had fetched the people from the streets of Girivraja to the wrestling arena. Word flashed through the city that their king and a stranger were battling to the death, with their kingdoms set as stake. The people, brahmanas, kshatriyas, vaisyas, sudras and even women and the aged came running to watch the stranger die. It was seldom, nowadays, that anyone came to challenge Jarasandha. This stranger must be a fool, or he must be tired of his life.
But as they arrived, they heard whispers that it was their old enemy Krishna who had come to challenge their king and his cousin Bheema was the one Jarasandha was fighting. Soon they saw how evenly the two were matched. Why, if Jarasandha had been any other kshatriya, Bheema would have killed him by now. But Jarasandha had a boon from the Lord Siva that he could be killed in just one way; and, of course, no one knew that secret.
This was the first day of the month of Kartika. The combatants had used a hundred holds and locks, vicious kicks to the marmas of the body and blows, flat-handed and close-fisted, all at stunning speed. Any of these would have killed any other opponent, except three or four men on earth. But Bheema and Jarasandha knew the proper block and parry for each blow, every kick and iron lock; and no harm came to either.
With lowered heads, they butted one another like fighting rams and shuddered with the impacts. They kicked each other with feet like thunder and blows like whiplash lightning and, invariably, these fell harmlessly on other parts of the body than they were meant to. Both were gifted, superbly trained and each stronger than a bull-bison. In different ways, neither of their strengths was merely human.
The noise of their duel was like electric storms, like cliffs crumbling into the sea. At dusk, a conch blared, announcing an end to the day's combat. The warriors embraced each other and left the arena and the crowd dispersed. And now, Jarasandha the ferocious antagonist was transformed into the most gracious host. The adversaries returned to the Magadhan king's palace for nightlong revelry and the cordial exchange of drunken pleasantries and insults.
Late that night, Arjuna said wryly to Krishna, "This enemy is a better host than most of our friends."
Full of the delectable wine served at Jarasandha's table, cosseted by the loveliest women from his harem, Krishna agreed with feeling, "May Bheema kill him slowly, over many days."
So it turned out. For twenty-six days, all that month of Kartika, the two titans fell at each other for three hours every afternoon, with maces they swiftly broke and then with bare hands. Each day, at dusk, they returned to the palace, bruised, often bloody: returned to dice and wine, delicious food, song and dance, uninhibited gaiety and the most luscious women. Indeed, it seemed that with every day the two kshatriyas' spirits improved.
Krishna said to Arjuna, "I see now why this Asura is such a favorite of Siva's. Twenty-six days and his hospitality and generosity continue unabated." The Dark One sighed. "He is a magnificent kshatriya."
But at crack of dawn on the twenty-seventh day of the fluctuating duel, Krishna came to see his cousin Bheema in his room. Bheema had grown strangely close to the lord of Girivraja: as if the fight to death they waged daily bound them together with invisible thongs.
Krishna said, "Tomorrow is amavasya, the day he has been waiting for. His kind is strongest when the moon is new. You must kill him today, Bheema, or he will kill you tomorrow. Watch me for a sign and I will show you how to finish him. It is time he died, or Yudhishtira will never perform the Rajasuya and your father will remain in Yama's labyrinths.
For Pandu and Yudhishtira, for the kings in his dungeons, who I believe are a hundred now and for this earth, who has borne his burden for too long: you must kill Jarasandha today."
Bheema smiled, "I have grown fond of him; he is great-hearted. But he is old and he is tiring. I will kill him, Krishna: for your sake as well as for all the others'!" Bheema knelt at Krishna's feet and the Dark One blessed him.
Five sets of maces were quickly shattered that afternoon. The king and his palace guest fell on each other with bare hands. Yet, they were more cautious than ever, both conserving their ebbing energies: only the one who endured would live. Suddenly, Bheema began to feel unaccountably strong, as if someone was infusing him with unearthly power. With this new strength, he swung an iron fist at the Magadhan. Caught unawares by a sickening blow, Jarasandha fell with a cry.
In a flash Bheema was on him, his knee planted on his enemy's chest, his vast hands round his throat to choke life out of him. Jarasandha's face turned purple, but he did not die. At last, Bheema released the thick throat and turned desperately to Krishna. Jarasandha sat up, laughing and struck Bheema a dreadful blow.
Bheema roared and sprang forward to clinch with him. Now, the Pandava was full of doubt as they circled, with immense arms locked. Bheema knew he had been within a whisker of killing Jarasandha. But he had not died, when Bheema had choked him for so long that his heart must have stopped beating. As they circled, breathing heavily, Bheema saw Krishna smiling at him. The Avatara held a blade of grass in his hands and he tore it along its length.
The strange strength coursed through Bheema's arms again; he understood the meaning of the blade of grass. In a blur, he tripped Jarasandha into the sand, damp with their sweat. Quick as thinking he seized the king's ankles, one in each hand. Jarasandha's eyes flew open in shock and a roar of alarm erupted from his lips. Bheema tore that king in two from his anus to his crown; and his steaming intestines, his feces, heart, liver, spleen, all his innards spilled on to the white sand.
The crowd was petrified that the impossible had happened: Jarasandha was dead. Bheema gave a roar of triumph, he ran to Krishna and Arjuna to embrace them. But there was the queerest look in Krishna's eyes and, as Bheema flung his arms round his cousin, he heard a sound that froze his blood. The crowd was shouting its king's name again.
'Jarasandha! Jaya, Jarasandha!'
Slowly, Bheema turned and his cry of terror at what he saw in the wrestling-pit echoed across the city. The torn halves of Jarasandha's body had joined themselves together; all his spilt organs had packed themselves into place again. There was a flash of light like the one when Jara, the rakshasi, once joined two pieces of a baby together and gave a huge prince life. The lord of Magadha rose from the dead and laughing as if the tearing of his body had been a delightful jest, he advanced on Bheema again.
Bheema stood rooted. Wasn't it possible then to kill this terrible king? What point was it fighting if the demon would not die after being torn in two? As the grinning Jarasandha beckoned to him to come into a clinch again, Bheema turned in despair to Krishna. Arjuna looked as mortified as his brother did. But Krishna stood smiling, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. He held another blade of grass in his hands; who knew where he had come by a blade of grass? As Bheema watched him, amazed, again Krishna ripped the green blade in two; and now he crossed his hands and threw the torn halves in opposite directions.
Once more, Bheema felt the eerie strength surge through him. He leapt back into the wrestling-pit and charged Jarasandha. The king was taken aback; he had thought the Pandava's nerve would break when he saw that Jarasandha of Magadha rose from the dead. Bheema seized him and, hefting his bulk over his head, began to whirl him round.
Jarasandha roared with laughter. "Prepare to die when you have finished your little game!"
Bheema let him down suddenly and seized his ankles. Planting his foot at the fork of his legs, Bheema tore him in two again, in a flash, so he had no time even to scream. Out spilled the warm and bloody innards. Bheema stood panting. Still holding one half of the giant body in each hand, he glanced uncertainly at Krishna. Krishna crossed his wrists.
Crossing his arms, Bheema flung the two body halves in opposite directions, so each one lay with its back to the other. Now they did not join and Jarasandha did not rise from the dead. His people shouted to him to come back, not to abandon them, O great king. The pieces of his corpse did not even twitch. Their king, Lord Siva's bhakta, would never rise again.
Krishna's celebrant cry rang through Girivraja: the roar of a triumphant God! Now he ran to embrace Bheema, who collapsed exhausted in the Dark One's arms. They paid the dead king every homage, but there was panic in the palace of Girivraja. Panic gripped the ministers and courtiers: what would become of them?
The customary shock that follows the death of a mighty sovereign seized the city and the streets of mourning. The people knew their kingdom had been the stake for the duel. Would Magadha become part of Indraprastha? Would Yudhishtira come to rule Girivraja, or would Bheema or Arjuna become its king?
Krishna's first concern was for the hundred royal captives. He had them released from the fetid catacomb under the palace, where Jarasandha held them.
When those kshatriyas emerged into the clean night air, they saw dark Krishna effulgent and four-armed before them and they knelt before him. When they had thanked him, repeatedly, for saving them from being brutally sacrificed, they asked what they could do for him in return.
Krishna said, "It was Bheema who saved you. His brother Yudhishtira wants to perform a Rajasuya yagna and become emperor of Bharatavarsha. See you give him your support."
The hundred swore, "Yudhishtira is already our emperor!"
Krishna turned his mind back to Girivraja. At midnight of the day his father was torn in two by Bheema, Jarasandha's eldest son, another Sahadeva, found himself king in Magadha. No condition was attached to his kingship, except that he recognized Yudhishtira as his emperor and ally. Jarasandha's ministers retained their positions of influence. Having achieved the impossible in Girivraja, Krishna set out for Indraprastha with an exuberant Bheema and Arjuna and the chariots laden with the gold and jewels that Sahadeva sent with him.
When they arrived at the gates of Indraprastha, the three of them raised their sea-conches and blew clarion blasts on them, so the walls of that city shook. Yudhishtira came out from his palace. Tears streaming down his face, he hugged his brothers and his cousin. "This is a miracle, Krishna. We could have never killed Jarasandha without you."
Krishna replied, "Don't balk at the Rajasuya any more."
Yudhishtira made them recount the battle between Bheema and Jarasandha, day by day, blow by blow, again and again; as if he could never hear enough about the enemy's strength and Bheema's valor. And Bheema never tired of telling the part when he had the shock of his life: when, after he had torn Jarasandha in two the first time, his body joined itself together and that king stood laughing at the Pandava.
"That is when I was sure everything was lost." Then he would sigh, "But Krishna was with me and Jarasandha's time had come."
Krishna said to Yudhishtira, "I must go back to Dwaraka and you must send your legions to the four quarters, with your brothers leading them. Declare yourself emperor of Bharatavarsha and collect tribute from all the kingdoms for your sacrifice. With Jarasandha dead and a hundred kings already having sworn allegiance to you, your task will not be hard. When Bheema, Arjuna, Sahadeva and Nakula ride home in triumph, I will also come with the Yadavas from Dwaraka. And we will perform the great yagna, so your father and his fathers ascend into Indra's heaven."
With quiet satisfaction, that his most implacable enemy, Jarasandha, was dead, Krishna came home to Dwaraka.