SIX
Krishna takes Yudhishtira aside. The Dark One is trembling with rare fury. He lashes out at the Pan-dava, “I have never seen anyone as foolish as you! You dare challenge Duryodhana to a mace-fight? He will kill you before the fight even begins. It is no empty boast when he says no one can match him at the mace. For these thirteen years you were in exile, he practised every day, raining blows on an iron image of Bheema. Duryodhana’s mace blows are like thunder and lightning in Devaloka! Bheema is perhaps stronger than he is, but he has neither Duryodhana’s skill nor his long, hard practice.”
Krishna sighs. “This is turning into another game of dice. It seems you are determined you and your brothers will spend your lives in the jungle and Duryodhana will sit upon the throne of the world. Listen to me, if there is any of you who might be able to face Duryodhana it is only Bheema. And not even he can beat the Kaurava in a fair fight with maces. Oh, Yudhishtira, I despair for you and your dharma. Dharma is not meant to be carried to such insane lengths. After millions of men have died and the world is almost yours, you mean to give it all back with your foolishness!”
Krishna’s lips are pale with annoyance. Bheema says, “I will fight Duryodhana. More than any of us, he hates me. But I am stronger than he is and my mace is more powerful than his. I will kill him today, Krishna, nothing will stop me.”
Bheema speaks with such fervor that Krishna takes the big Pandava’s hand and cries, “Yes! You will kill him today, Bheema and only you can. You have killed the other ninety-nine Kauravas and you will kill Duryodhana as well. You must keep your oath. As much as your mace, let the anger of thirteen years be your weapon. Kill your cousin and lay the world at your brother’s feet. But be careful, Bheema, never for a moment think he will be easy to kill. There is no mace-fighter like Duryodhana; he is strong as a mountain and quick as a thought.”
Duryodhana stands growling still, ready for the last battle. He is determined to Salvage some honor from it for the rout on Kurukshetra. Bheema comes up to him and says, “I will fight you, Duryodhana and before we begin I want you to think back on everything you have made us suffer. Remember Varanavrata, the game of dice, how Dusasana dragged Panchali into the sabha in Hasti-napura. Why, remember Kurukshetra, where the very race of kshatriyas has been destroyed. Bheeshma lies dying, Drona lies dead and the sutaputra graces the field, bright as a sun even in death. Our uncle Shalya lies there and your own brothers, glowing like embers of a great fire put out. Not only the kshatriyas, but dharma has perished on Kurukshetra; sishyas have killed gurus, uncles have killed nephews and cousins their cousins. We have cut down our Pitama on Kurukshetra and all this for your vanity.
The time has come to pay, Duryodhana. I am going to have revenge on you for every sin you ever committed. I am going to kill you.” Bheema’s voice is frightening, though he speaks so quietly.
Duryodhana listens to him in contempt, a brow arched, a sneer on his lips. The Kaurava laughs, “I never knew you were so eloquent, Bheema! I myself prefer deeds to words. How many years I have waited to kill you. I am pleased that you are man enough to fight, rather than letting one of your brothers be killed first. Don’t you see my mace like a cliff of Himavat? You will die, cousin: no one earth can fight me with a mace. Why, if the fight is fair, I think I could beat Indra. But of you five, certainly you are the most worthy adversary. After me, there was Shalya, until he died; and then there is you. Of course, my master Balarama is greater than any of us. It was he that said I am better than the rest of you put together. I am ready, Bheema. Let us begin.”
He speaks so boldly it would hardly seem that he stands alone against the others. Smiling at his cousin’s invincible arrogance, Yudhishtira brings him some armor and a crown to contain his long hair. Duryodhana takes these graciously. He has never hated Yudhsihtira; he even admires his noble nature, thinking that here is a worthy brother to his Karna. He had only fought Yudhishtira for kingdom, the wealth and power it brought. Bheema he has always loathed.
Duryodhana dons the golden mail. He sets the shining crown firmly on his head. And he is truly splendid: every inch a kshatriya and a king, glowing by the last rays of the setting sun as if his body was bathed in blood.
Bheema steps forward, mace in hand and the antagonists begin to circle each other warily. Before the first blow can be struck, they hear a conch and the approach of a chariot through the trees. They stop and turn to see their master, Balarama, arrive.
Krishna’s brother comes from a pilgrimage1, which had taken him from Prabhasa to the source of the Saraswati, to all the tirthas along the Ganga and the Yamuna, to the Naimisa vana, down to the Sarayu, to Prayaga, on to bathe in the Gomati, to the Gandaki, to Gaya where he worshipped his ancestors, to Mount Mahendra, to bathe in the seven streams of the Godavari, to the Vena, the Pampa and the river Bhima, to the Venkata mountain, to Kanchi, to Kamakoti, to bathe in the Kaveri, to Srirangam, Kanyakumari, the Panchaprana lake, to Kerala, Siva’s Gokarna, Uma’s island shrine, to the Dandaka vana and from there to the Narmada and back again to Prabhasa from where he set out. On his way back, he met Narada who told him of the gada-yuddha his sishyas were about to fight, to the death of one of them. Duryodhana, of course, was the Yadava’s favorite and the guru wanted to be present when the duel was fought.
Balarama arrives on the banks of the Dwaipayana lake. Krishna and the Pandavas greet him warmly. Duryodhana prostrates himself at his master’s feet; he does not feel alone any more.
Balarama says, “I have heard Samantapanchaka is a most holy place upon the earth. It is near here. Let the gada-yuddha be fought there, for anyone who dies in Samantapanchaka goes straight to swarga.”
Yudhishtira agrees and they set out for Samantapanchaka. It is such a spectacle: those kshatriyas moving through the trees like a pride of lions. Duryodhana saunters along at his ease with his cousins, his enemies, his gait regal, his mace across his shoulder. Krishna walks with Balarama, asking him about his tirtha-yatra and Satyaki brings up the rear, a few paces behind them.