 
PRADYUDITA

GEETHA KRISHNAN

Pradyudita

By Geetha Krishnan

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019 Geetha Krishnan

Smashwords Edition, License Notes  
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To

Arpi, Aru, Jamy, Panchu, Pardeep, Riti, and all the others who have encouraged me. This wouldn't have become possible without you. Thank you all.

"nārāyaṇaṁ namaskṛtya naraṁ caiva narottamam  
devīṁ sarasvatīṁ caivaṁ tato jayam udīrayet"

Mahabharata, beginning of each parva

One should pray to both Nara and Narayana, the best of all Gods, and also to Saraswati the Goddess of Learning before one attempts to read and understand the tale known as Jaya

Prologue

The night was just falling as the great sage Vyasa man made his tired way to the palace of Hastinapura. It was always night, whenever he visited, or so it seemed to him. Words hung heavy inside him, so many words that he longed to speak, so many questions he needed to ask, so many accusations, fears... And yet, he felt like his very will had been sapped by the news he'd received. He was barely aware of the guards opening the gates for him, or of the escort of soldiers who led him to the palace. He was still numb with shock, and the part of him that was still capable of thinking, warned him that seeking this meeting when he was not at his best was probably not the smartest thing he'd done. But it was too late to reverse it. He was here.

"Sage Vyasa," someone bowed to him respectfully, bending down to touch his feet.

The sage recognized Bheema, the younger brother of Yudhistira, the Maharaja of Hastinapura. His hands rose automatically in benediction, as the words fell from his lips almost like a reflex. "Ayushman Bhavah!" May you live long.

Bheema rose and stood respectfully to one side, allowing Vyasa to precede him to the palace. There was something very familiar about it all, and it seemed to Vyasa that it had been in another lifetime that he had stood at this very threshold, blessing another with these very words. The past hung heavy over the palace, and he could feel the a void inside him, a void where his brothers once lived, where his sons once lived.

"My brother has requested that you rest for tonight, and he will meet you in the morning," Bheema's voice filtered to his mind. The voice was unsteady, slurred, and Vyasa turned to look into the red-rimmed swollen eyes of the man. He was still as handsome as ever, though his eyes appeared sunken and his face appeared gaunt with the shadow of a beard evident on his face. His moustache was not as neatly trimmed as it normally was, and his hair appeared unkempt. The once magnificent physique of the strongest man in Aryavarta had begun to be more fat than muscle these days. The sage nodded almost automatically as he turned. A man appeared in front of him, seemingly out of nowhere. But then, the palace of Hastinapura was full of hidden doors and corridors. No doubt, the man stepped out from one of those.

"Sthapathi," Bheema's voice seemed to come from a long way off, as the new man bowed. "See to it that our illustrious guest is made comfortable for the night."

Bowing to Vyasa once again, Bheema departed, and only now was Vyasa's mind catching up, and he began to see the reason for the shadow on Bheema's face, his unsteady gait, the slurred words, his red eyes, his refusal to walk before him, all of which stemmed not from respect, or grief but from vastly different reasons, and Vyasa sighed. He could not blame Bheema for seeking solace in wine. Had he not been a sage, he would have done the same.

The sthapathi was still waiting for him, and Vyasa nodded to him. He led him through a corridor that was no different from any other he'd been through. The present sthapathi was not as corpulent as Sravana. He was taller, and was beginning to flab and would soon be almost a replica of Sravana. The look of anxiety on his face was very similar to that of Sravana.

The room to which he'd been led... the sage paused at the threshold and surveyed the room. It was a large apartment, luxurious, with colourful tapestries adorning the wall, a comfortable looking bed with silk sheets on it, and a rich carpet on the floor. The sthapathi must be certainly inexperienced if this was the room they gave a sage. Vyasa found he had no energy to argue or be angry, so he merely nodded as he entered the room. The sthapathi left soon, leaving Vyasa in the midst of luxuries he did not know what to do with.

"I knew that man had no sense," a warm, gravelly voice spoke as a man moved forward from the shadows. He was tall, well built but beginning to be soft around the middle, with sharp eyes, a firm chin and mouth, and wavy hair. His moustache was thick, but not overly so. He was certainly handsome and his wide open eyes gave him a look almost of innocence. The scars on his arm from the bow were still prominent though Vyasa doubted if he still practiced. His high cheekbones were not so conspicuous these days, probably because his cheeks had fleshed out more. All these details Vyasa took in, just as he'd taken in Bheema's unkempt appearance, in the space it took him to draw a breath. It was habit with him now, the observation.

"Yudhistira," Vyasa said, feeling suddenly numb.

Yudhistira's sudden appearance was egregious, yet Vyasa recovered his composure almost immediately. He had sought this meeting after all, had travelled all this way just to meet him. And yet, now that he saw that smiling face before him, he could not voice all the thoughts, all the rage that had filled him at the time he heard the news of the forest fire which had killed Dhritarashtra and Vidura as well as Gandhari and Kunti. Yudhistira did not look like a man who was lamenting his mother's death, and Vyasa could not feel angry, not even when he thought of all the things Kunti had done for this son of hers. When he heard the news, he knew that the cause for the fire had not been natural, especially since it happened immediately after Yudhistira and Bheema had visited, and Vidura had had a private conversation with Yudhistira. He wondered what he had said that had made Yudhistira decide he'd lived log enough.

"Why did you do it?" When he asked it, the sage's voice held resignation rather than anger. He sounded tired. He was tired.

Yudhistira smiled. To his credit, he neither denied it nor pretended not to know what Vyasa was talking about. "Vidura? He knew the truth. He had to be silenced. The others were.... collateral damage."

The sage stared at the man, aghast. He should not have been surprised. He'd lived long enough and seen enough of human nature to be surprised by anything, but this man was beyond his comprehension. He was so indifferent to all that he did that he seemed hardly human. Yet, Vyasa had seen his ambition, his desire, the flame that burned inside him. He was very much like Vidura in that respect. But at the core of his being, Yudhistira was untouched by anything, supremely indifferent, and hence capable of any heinous act without feeling the least regret.

"What now?" Vyasa asked quietly. "Are you going to kill me too? I too know the truth."

"I did consider it. But no. I've a better idea." Yudhistira paused. "I heard you've taken in four new disciples."

There was a moment of silence. Vyasa felt a sliver of fear pierce his heart. He was not frightened for himself, but the four youngsters did not deserve to die for his mistakes. And he did not want to have another void in his heart, in his life. He'd lost his brothers, his sons, and many grandchildren. He'd lost even great grandchildren. He did not want to lose these four children who were all the comfort he had left. He could see clearly his own foolishness in coming here, and yet there was nothing he could do now. It was just another in the long list of foolish decisions he had made, lives he had endangered, regrets he had.

"Someone told me their names," Yudhistira intoned. "Paila, Vaisambayana, Jaimini and Sumantu. Do I have it right?"

"What do you want from me?" Vyasa was so exhausted, he didn't want to fight any more.

Yudhistira smiled, but there was no humour there, and his eyes were hard. "Finish the song you composed for my victory. And that song shall be all the history the future generations will know. None shall ever know the truth."

"You want me to lie."

"You have already lied, old man. That song is full of lies already. I just want you to finish what you started. But there is no compulsion. Paila accompanied you here, I believe."

Vyasa stared at the man, petrified, as the full import of what he'd done penetrated to his brain. Paila did accompany him there, not wanting his teacher to travel alone when he was so distraught. And the young boy was at one of the guest houses, waiting for his teacher to return from the palace.

"All right," the sage whispered. "But remember, Yudhistira, the truth shall not remain hidden forever! You cannot kill everyone who knows it!"

"No," Yudhistira agreed. "But then I think we've already established that I don't need to, haven't we?"

"You can't blackmail everyone either," Vyasa said, grasping at straws.

"Get some sleep, grandfather," Yudhistira's eyes on him were mocking and pitiless. "You'll need your strength if you're to compose the detailed tale of my victory."

Once alone in the room, Vyasa sat on the floor, drawing deep breaths to calm himself down. Grandfather, Yudhistira had called him, acknowledging the relation in mockery that everyone knew of and no one ever acknowledged. At least, that was something he would not need to lie about, though he would have to lie about everything and everyone else. The song he'd composed was a song of Victory, 'Jaya' and now, he would need to compose something else- an Itihasa, the story of the Bharatas; he would need to compose a Mahabharata. But before the lie, he would cast his mind once more over the truth, over the true story of the Bharatas.
One

The night lay silent, blanketing the landscape in a dark shroud. The moon was a sickle in the sky, not giving enough light to illuminate the earth. The shadowy outline of a large building was barely discernible. The faint light of the moon shimmered over the surface of the river nearby. The night was cold though Sharad had not yet given way to Hemanta.

The sound of an oar splashing broke the silence, and a boat came gliding by, a small lantern bobbing on its prow. It was a small boat, similar to the ones used to transport passengers and goods from one bank to the other. But unlike such ferry boats, this one was covered, almost like one of the pleasure boats used by the nobility.

"Halt here," a gruff voice spoke and the boatman paddled the boat close to the bank. A man jumped out. The boatman threw him a rope which he used to pull the boat closer to the shore and tied it to a tree. The boatman also jumped ashore.

"Where are they?" whispered the boatman. His voice was soft.

"They'll be here," the first man replied in a whisper too.

"It's cold," the boatman man shivered. "I don't like this waiting, Ruchika."

"You're being paid for it," Ruchika replied.

"I don't like dealing with Kshatriyas," the other man grumbled. "They pay, but they make us do things that are beneath us."

"You're a hired assassin, Madana," Ruchika sounded amused. "What is that which is beneath you?"

"Exactly. I'm a Ghataka, not a priest. If they want someone threatened or blackmailed, they should find a Brahmana!"

"I prefer the blackmail to strangling women and poisoning children," Ruchika said.

"We are assassins. We are supposed to kill."

"Not women and children. Not through poison and deceit."

"Bah! You are too squeamish. What does it matter how they die?"

"Well, this job is a kill. That I can assure you." There was some distaste in Ruchika's voice.

"You don't seem too happy about it," Madana said.

"There are some things that I do not like," Ruchika concurred.

"Where are they?" Madana repeated. "If the guards see us..."

"Guards?" Ruchika snorted. "No guards will bother us. It's the Maharaja's own daughter who has hired us."

"A Rajakumari?" Madana was surprised. "Why?"

"You'll see," was Ruchika's enigmatic reply.

A faint scraping sound was heard and both men stood alert. An aperture opened at the side of the building, large enough for a person and out of it emerged two women, followed by two men. The woman in front was small, almost a child, and was carrying a lamp.

"I think it's them," Ruchika muttered.

They stood their ground as the woman walked up to them, followed by the other woman, who was carrying a small bundle and the men who was carrying a small chest. They were walking with some difficulty, as they followed the women.

The young woman halted a few feet away from them. She made a gesture to the men with her and he laid the chest in front of them with some difficulty, and stood back wiping their faces.

"Payment in full, in advance, as agreed," she said. Her voice was low and cultured, and sounded very young, a girl's voice, not a woman's.

She gestured to one of the men who opened the chest which was full of gold coins. The lid had some strange emblem inside, but it was not clearly seen in the indifferent light. The two hired killers looked at each other and nodded.

"Who's the target?" Ruchika asked.

The woman made another gesture, this time to the other woman who laid the bundle she was carrying on top of the coins. They could now see that the bundle contained a baby, barely a week old, fast asleep.

"Drown it!" the girl said, viciously. "But do it only after the sun has risen. It won't wake till then."

She turned around and went back into the building followed by her retinue, leaving the two men gaping after her. They looked at the chest full of coins, now obscured by the sleeping form of their target.

"A baby?" Madana asked in a horrified voice. "She wants us to kill a baby? Who is she anyway?"

"She's the Rajakumari who hired us," Ruchika said, picking up the sleeping infant. "And if you don't want her men to hound you for the rest of your life, you'll do exactly as she said."

"Why did she want us to do it after sunrise?" Madana asked, as he picked up the chest with some difficulty and followed Ruchika to the boat.

Ruchika shrugged. "Whims of royalty, maybe. Or maybe she does not want it drowned within her Kingdom."

The two men clambered on to the boat with some difficulty, Madana untying the rope. The boatman picked up the long pole he used to push away from the bank.

"If we are to drown it, we better do it now, while it's still asleep," Madana said.

"The Rajakumari said after sunrise," Ruchika said.

"I thought you didn't like killing children," Madana said.

"I don't," Ruchika said. "But I've to live."

"What is the name of that princess?"

"Her name is Pritha. But it's said she isn't all she appears to be."

"And this baby?"

"Hers, if rumour is to be believed."

Madana shivered. "And I thought I was cold blooded." He paused. "If it wakes, it could start crying and that's going to attract attention. Drown it now, I say! What difference would it make? How's she going to know?"

"This river isn't deep enough here," Ruchika hissed. "The body will wash ashore in her own lands. Some servant from the palace will recognize it! How long do you think we'll live once that has happened?"

"The fish will eat it. It won't be recognizable!"

"Are you prepared to take that chance?"

"We would reach the Ganga soon. I'm not drowning an infant in the Ganga!"

Ruchika considered and then nodded reluctantly. "We better drown him here, then. Here, I've an idea."

He spread a blanket on the bottom of the boat and emptied the chest's contents on to it. Then he put another blanket inside the chest and put the infant on top. He took a few handful of coins and scattered them on top.

"For extra weight," he explained.

Madana nodded. Once Ruchika closed the chest, he picked it up. It seemed curiously weightless now that it held only the sleeping infant. He threw the chest onto the dark waters of Aswanadi where it sank.

"There, the body won't wash ashore now," Ruchika said.

"Let's hope not," Madana said. "Let's go away to the north for a while," Madana sat down, dropping the oar for a moment.

"All right," Ruchika said, as he used the long pole to keep the boat in the middle of the river.

Madana shivered again. "This job gives me the goosebumps."

Ruchika chuckled as he brought out a small flask. "How about something to keep us warm?"

The two men drank deeply before picking up the oars again. The boat drifted away from the shores of Kunti, towards the wide expanses of the Ganga.

In the darkness, they did not see the chest bobbing in the waves in their wake.
Two

"We have to do something," Bheeshma spoke. He was tall, regal in appearance, with an unlined face, though his hair and beard were both turning grey. He was pacing inside a handsome room, spacious and furnished minimally. Both the ornamental desk and the colourful tapestry were both of the highest quality. A large window at the north wall stood wide open and provided enough illumination.

"What can we do, uncle?" a younger man, sitting at the desk, demanded. He was also tall, with a determined chin and piercing eyes. But at the moment, he looked anxious. His fingers were drumming the wooden surface of the desk.

"I don't know," Bheeshma said exasperatedly. "I really don't know, Vidura. All I know is that we can't allow this to get out." He paused. "You are certain about this, aren't you?"

"Neither I nor my spies were hiding in the bedroom, if that's what you mean," Vidura's voice was dry. "But the whore talked, of how the Maharaja could not –ah- perform, and of the tantrum he threw when he realized that."

"If she talks again-"

"She won't. She'll have to pleasure her men without a tongue from now on, both her and the one to whom she gossiped. I've rebuilt the room he demolished, and the owner does not know what caused the tantrum. He believes his whore displeased the Maharaja."

"You left them alive?" there was displeasure in Bheeshma's voice.

"They are both illiterates," Vidura remarked. "I deemed it better to leave them alive. The statement is more effective that way. Just in case our monarch gets the urge to- try his nonexistent virility in some other whorehouse."

"Perhaps I should talk to him," Bheeshma muttered.

"Perhaps. You are his uncle, and the best judge."

"I don't want to risk my mother finding out."

"She has her own ways of finding out things, but this is one secret that is safe from her."

"She wants to see him married,"

Vidura snorted. "And then, the shameful secret of the impotency of the Kuru Maharaja will be all over Aryavarta."

"You think so?"

"Any princess whom we choose will complain to her father if she learns her husband is impotent. That means war. And while Hastinapura is strong enough to win, the news will be all over the continent."

"But if he is not married, that could lead to the same kind of talk."

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't." Vidura chuckled. "It's an interesting conundrum. But there is one point to be noted."

"Which is?"

"If he doesn't marry, it will lead to talk, true, but that talk will at best be speculation. Whereas if he does get married, it won't be a speculation, but a fact."

"The Kuru Maharaja has to be married." Bheeshma said decisively.

"Then be prepared for war, and ridicule." Vidura's tone was bland.

"Not if she chose him," Bheeshma said thoughtfully, his hand stroking his beard.

"A Swayamvara?" Vidura asked. "That could work, uncle Bheeshma. But you'll have to get an invitation for our Maharaja. Then you'll have to convince him to agree to go. And then, you'll have to find a way for the girl to choose him. And frankly, in spite of his good looks, he looks far too pale and unhealthy for any girl to voluntarily choose him."

"She'll choose him. I'll make sure of that."

"But even if it's a Swayamvara, the girl's family could still demand reparation from the Kurus. And if they do, it won't be in secret."

Bheeshma frowned. "I think I know what to do," he said slowly. "While we cannot make Pandu anything other than what he is, there is a way to ensure that the honour of the Kurus remain intact. We'd managed to do that once. We can do that again."

"How? By abducting another set of Rajakumaris?" Vidura's voice held a hint of acerbity.

Bheeshma frowned again. "You think you can judge me for that act?" he demanded.

"I'm not judging you, uncle. But I think such a course of action twice in a row might be – inadvisable."

"Don't worry. I've a better plan. But I need your help."

"You want my help for Pandu," Vidura's voice was flat.

"I want your help for Hastinapura."

Vidura nodded. "For Hastinapura." He paused. "Have you considered that Hastinapura might be better served to have Dhritarashtra as its Maharaja?"

Bheeshma grimaced. "Do you think I made the decision lightly to have Pandu as the Maharaja? Dhritarashtra is blind!"

"He was only partially blind. And the vaidya did express hopes for his sight improving."

"That was only a chance."

"But was that reason enough for you to stop his treatment?"

"There was no reason to put his hopes up," Bheeshma said, though he avoided Vidura's eyes. "We can't have anyone but a whole man as the Maharaja."

"Right. A partially blind man is not whole, but an impotent one is."

"You don't understand. Pandu looks whole. And that is what matters. When people see their Maharaja, they should not feel repelled. They should feel awe, joy, admiration, devotion, hope. The sight of a partially blind man invokes revulsion and at best, pity."

Vidura shrugged. "Whatever you say. What is it that I'm to do for you? I beg your pardon, for Hastinapura?"

"You don't feel devoted to this Kingdom?"

"I'm devoted to it, uncle. But I can still see the realities under the colourful exteriors. Just like our monarch, our Kingdom too is deeply flawed."

"And you think you are the best person to be its Maharaja," Bheeshma said suddenly.

Vidura said nothing, just kept gazing at his uncle. Bheeshma drew a deep breath. "If... if circumstances were different, Vidura... why did you never say anything before Pandu's coronation?"

"To what end? To be called unrighteous by our priests and presumptuous by my brothers? To be called ambitious by you? We both know I'm better than both my brothers. I'm more – whole- than either of them. And yet, I'm denied the Kingdom because of- what? My birth? We all share the same father. And yet, my birth is considered inferior because my mother is not a princess."

"It's not that," Bheeshma stammered. "By law, they are the sons of Vichitravirya, and you-"

"I'm the son of a maid, sired by a sage. A bastard if you will." Vidura paused. "So, what can I do for this vast Kingdom of the Kurus, in return for my birth?"

Bheeshma took two parchments from a sheaf on the desk and handed it to Vidura. He read the first in silence. And then, "My spies don't appear to be as efficient as I thought."

"The news would've come to you, had I not killed the source."

"But the men are still alive."

"One of them is."

Vidura nodded as he examined the second parchment. "I see your plan. We can't trust this to spies."

"No. Which is why you must accompany Pandu to the Swayamvara."

"I will need to talk to the man first."

"He is to be executed at sunrise tomorrow."

"No time to waste then. Arrange a meeting at sundown today. In the meantime, I'll make arrangements for the Maharaja's journey." He paused. "How did you convince Pandu to accept?"

"By impressing upon him that there's no other choice. The world expects it of him. Hastinapura expects it of him."

"For the first time, I'm feeling a bit sorry for him."
Three

The sky was overcast and there was no breeze. A procession of chariots moved forward slowly, almost sluggishly, as if they were loath to reach their destination. These were not the war chariots built for utility nor the hunting chariots built for speed. These were the chariots that were used by the nobility of Aryavarta for their leisure trips. There were seven chariots in all. The chariot in the middle held the Maharaja and Maharani of Hastinapura. The leading chariot held the Pradhanamantrin, Vidura. The last one held the Sthapathi, a corpulent man named Sravana and his assistants. The second chariot held the Maharaja's personal attendants and the Maharani's maids. The rest of the chariots contained the items that every royal household held to be indispensable for their comfort.

The chariots were accompanied by a contingent of soldiers. The ones who rode close to the Royal chariot were the Maharaja's own guards. Though they rode close to the chariot, they still kept a discreet distance as though they wanted to give the newly wedded couple their privacy.

Kunti, the bride sat in one corner, her posture rigid, her eyes looking at the passing scenery without seeing anything. So many thoughts had been chasing across her mind that her brain had shut down for the moment. In the other corner sat Pandu, the monarch of Hastinapura, lost in thoughts of his own.

Neither noticed when the chariot lurched to a stop before a large square building surrounded by a low wall. Vidura dismounted from the chariot and moved towards the royal chariot.

"Maharaja, we are at a pathikavasa. If you and Maharani would like to refresh yourselves, and to partake of some food?"

The Maharaja came out of his abstraction. He looked at Vidura and gave a tight lipped smile.

"Of course," he said. "Call us when everything is ready."

Kunti's eyes on him were slits of fury and he bowed to her before making his way to the last chariot. Sravana was already directing his assistants to various tasks. There was a flurry of activity with maids and attendants running hither and thither with various items of furniture and furnishings and bric-a-brac.

Sravana turned as Vidura reached him and executed a low bow.

"Mahamatya,"

"Sthapathi,"

"What a nightmare," Sravana muttered, mopping his face. He was already sweating profusely. "That place is a pigsty, not fit for our Rajan at all. But what to do. The rooms are all tiny. That entire building is smaller than the Royal Apartments at Hastinapura."

"I'm sure you'll manage to make the place habitable."

"There were a few- ah- unwanted elements in there. We had to commandeer the place for the Maharaja and pay them off to leave." Sravana gave an anxious glance at the Royal Chariot. "Didn't want to have a commotion with the Rajan here."

Vidura nodded. "You did well."

One of the assistants came up and bowed. "Everything has been made ready, Sthapathi."

"I better go and check. You'll bring them?"

"Immediately," Vidura replied, and sauntered back to the Royal Chariot.

"Everything is ready, Maharaja," he said respectfully.

The Maharaja gave a curt nod and Vidura withdrew.

"Devi," Pandu proffered his hand to his wife, to help her alight.

Kunti looked blankly at him for a moment before smiling serenely and placing her hand in his.

They alighted to see maids and attendants lined up and a carpet spread on the floor strewn with flowers. The drab exterior of the building had been decorated with flower hangings. The inside of the pathikavasa was spotlessly clean and well lit. The shabby walls had been covered with rich tapestry and the rough stone floor was now covered in a soft plush carpet. The Maharaja's own cushions and silks adorned the functional furniture of the place.

"The rooms are rather small, Maharaja," Sravana said nervously.

Pandu looked around the room and nodded. "It'll do," he said. "It's not as if we are staying here for long."

Vidura and Sravana exchanged a look. Then Vidura cleared his throat. "A storm is about to break, Maharaja. I'd request that we stay here till it blows over."

A roll of thunder rang out just then as if to emphasize Vidura's words.

Pandu nodded curtly. "So be it."

The attendants and maids surged forward to lead the Royal Couple to their rooms. The Maharaja's bedroom was the largest room in the place and despite all the attempts of Sravana's people to turn it as luxurious as the Maharaja's own chambers in the palace, it was evident that the room was too small. But Pandu appeared not to notice, nodding absently and complimenting Sravana.

The maids led Kunti to her room, which was as large as the Maharaja's. The room next to it had been converted into a bathhouse and once the Maharani and her maids had entered the rooms, the Royal guard was there, preventing anyone else from entering.

Kunti sat on the bed, oblivious to the maids removing her bridal finery and ornaments. Her hair was freed from the tight braids and coils into which it was wound and the maids led her, covered by blankets, into the room with the bath. She was bathed and her hair washed. Braziers from which perfumed smoke was spiralling upwards were used to dry her knee-long hair. Her hair was bound into a simple braid and she was dressed in an exquisite orange coloured silk which draped her form like a tongue of flame.

As the maids opened her ornament box, Kunti came out of her abstraction.

"That one," she said pointing to a pair of small ear rings which were made of pure gold.

The maids stared at each other. It was not seeming in a Royal bride to adorn herself simply, but they dared not disobey her. A thin necklace and a pair of thin bangles and anklets completed her adornment.

With disapproving glances, the maids kept the ornament box aside. But in spite of their disappointment they had to admit that their young Maharani looked lovely. To be sure, her high cheekbones could not be considered a desirable feature, but her eyes were wide and set under dark arched brows and her nose was straight. Her lips were finely moulded and she had a firm chin. Dimples peeped in at the corners of her mouth when she smiled.

"Maharani," Vidura bowed low as he entered the room. "Maharaja begs your company for dinner."

Her face lost her look of abstraction and fury and loathing flashed in her eyes as she looked at him.

Thunder rumbled overhead and the rain started to fall.
Four

The Maharaja looked at his bride. They were alone in the room. The storm had not abated. Night had fallen and the lit lamps inside the room bathed the entire room in a golden glow.

The Maharani was sitting on the bed, facing away from him. Her hands were nervously twisting the edge of the sheet. She sat rigid and immobile, as she had sat the entire journey.

"Devi," he spoke.

She rose and turned to face him, her face pale, but her voice was steady as she spoke.

"Swami,"

He walked towards her. She paled further, but did not retreat. Their eyes remained locked on to the other's. He raised a hand to caress her cheek.

"So soft," he whispered, his breath hitching.

She did not move, but her body lost some of its rigidity as she trembled slightly. He bent down and his lips touched her cheek, moving to her lips. She trembled as she kissed him back, her arms reaching up to clutch his shoulders. His hands moved over her body and he was kissing her hair, her neck, her shoulders. His breath was almost a pant now.

Suddenly, she was free and he was striding away from her.

"Swami?" her voice held bewilderment and confusion.

He stopped at the door and turned. "I'm sorry," he said. His face was white, almost bloodless. "I... I'm not able to... I'm sorry,"

She sat down, her hands clenched into fists. Her breath was heavy and fast. Her mind replayed the scene again, but she still could not make any sense of it. Not able? She knew what that meant. She had known before, and yet, she had hoped that the one who told her was wrong.

The window flew open and a wet Vidura stepped into the room, closing the window.

"Had a feeling you could do with some company tonight," he said.

She sprang to her feet. "Get out! Or I'll scream."

"You could. But then, you would need to explain why you, a new bride is spending her wedding night alone."

"We're not in the palace yet."

"Do you think that would stop any red-blooded male?"

"He has better control than you think."

"You know, I do admire your loyalty to him. You've been married for how long exactly?"

"Get out," she said, her voice icy cold.

"Oh I shall leave. But you know, someday I will be your only option. So why not now?"

"Get out," she said through gritted teeth.

He opened the window. "It's not as if you're a virgin, so there's no need to play the innocent with me," he said before he disappeared.

She ran to close the window and stood with her back against it, biting her lips so hard to prevent herself from screaming. Was her past to be a stone round her neck forever? Was she never to be free of it? She should never have paid those men up front. She should have asked them to come to her once the job was done and then she should have cut out their tongues to ensure her secret was safe.

She straightened. She would not weaken. That man would not defeat her. He might be privy to her secret, but he was only the Pradhanamantrin and she was the Maharani. The Maharaja would be hers. In a way, his being impotent was a blessing. He would have no other wives or concubines who could take her away from her. She would do everything in her power to ensure that he would be under her thumb. And then, let the Pradhanamantrin beware!

She started blowing out the lamps one by one, aware of a faint feeling of irritation. It was the job of the maids, but the room was too small for the maids to be there. She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she climbed on to the bed. The cot was too narrow, but the Sthapathi and his people had placed a most comfortable bed and sheets, and though they had burned fragrant incense in every room, Kunti still felt that the room stank.

She pushed all that to the back of her mind. This was only a temporary stop. Tomorrow, she would be in Hastinapura, in the palace. And she was a Maharani now, no longer a mere Rajakumari. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips.
Five

"Vasu!" the woman called out anxiously. "Vasu! Where are you?"

The cot was empty and she peered around. The child was not well. Where could he have gone?

"He's here with me, Radha. Why, were you worried?"

She jumped in alarm as her husband came inside, carrying the young child in his arms. The child was around four, and lay pale and listless.

"I was worried," she said. "How's his fever now?"

"He's no longer hot," the man said, as he laid the child on a narrow cot. "The oushadhi given by the vaidya has helped."

"I'm so worried about him," Radha pushed a lock of hair away from the child's forehead. "He's never well. He's always so ill, with his cough that never leaves and frequent fevers."

"He'll be fine once the climate changes. He never has any illness during Greeshma."

Radha nodded as she tucked the child in a blanket. "Greeshma is still a long ways off. Varsha has just started."

"He'll be fine," Atiratha said. "The Vaidya said this is a mild fever. He'll be all right in no time."

"I hope so," Radha said, shaking out another blanket to wrap around the sleeping child.

"I've to go," Atiratha said. "The Maharaja and his bride are reaching today. I'm part of the escort chariots."

Radha nodded. "Go, then. Try to come back early. He'll need more oushadhi."

Radha sat near the child, watching him for a while after Atiratha had left. She knew she ought to be finishing her chores. She also ought to be decorating her house and should go out to greet the royal couple from the streets. But she did not feel like doing anything. Her child's illness had driven all thought out of her mind.

She felt the child's forehead. It was no longer hot, but still felt dry. She sighed in sorrow. How she had longed for a child! And yet, when she got one, it was of such delicate health. But then, it was not to be wondered at. No one knew that Vasu was not their son, but that they had found him. The river had given him to them.

Radha still remembered that day. Her husband had found a box, half buried in the reeds, and inside they had found a baby, half drowned, almost dead. They had thought he was dead, but Atiratha had detected the faint heart beat.

The vaidya had asked no questions when they took the child to him. The oushadhis he had given had saved the child, but the vaidya had warned them that the child could always be ill. And in the long Hemanta and Sisira that followed, Radha had feared the baby would not make it.

But little Vasu had survived the Hemanta and the Sisira. And when the seasons gave way to Vasanta and then to Greeshma, he had started to thrive. It seemed that being in the sunlight was enough to heal all his ills. And even when Greeshma gave way before Varsha, Vasu still remained strong.

The first gusts of Sharad had sapped his health again, and by the time Hemanta rolled by again, Radha was spending almost every waking moment nursing him and praying to all the Gods. Atiratha's duties as charioteer in the royal palace meant that he had little time to spend with his wife and child, but it also ensured a steady supply of food and oushadhis.

And thus had the cycle continued. For Radha, the cycle of seasons now revolved around the times that Vasu was ill and the times that he was healthy. But this time, his illness seemed unseasonal. Varsha had started, but Vasu generally succumbed to his illness only during Sharad. And the last year, he had fallen ill only in the depths of Sisira when even the sturdiest of boys fell prey to illnesses.

Radha rose and went into the kitchen. She could not neglect her duties. She had to prepare food for her husband and a broth for Vasu. A warm broth was all he could eat when he fell ill.

Radha stirred the pot and at such times, her mind invariably returned to who her Vasu was. The box was an ordinary wooden box, with a strange emblem carved on the inside of the lid. There were some gold coins scattered inside the box. One of them was lodged in the baby's fist and he seemed to have been sucking on it. The blanket he was wrapped in was made of silk, which seemed to indicate that he was the illegitimate child of some noblewoman. But there was no identifying marks anywhere on him or on his clothes. The coins were also ordinary, of the kind used in transactions all over Aryavarta, with nothing distinguishing their origin.

It was good that they didn't know, thought Radha. That meant that Vasu was theirs. If no one knew where he came from, no one could take him away. And no one could tell him any tales either. She knew that if anyone came to take him away, they would not be taking him to a better life. They would be taking him away to kill him. After all, they had attempted to drown him when he was a baby. How could they keep him alive now?

Vasu coughed from the other room, breaking into Radha's gloomy thoughts.. Radha dropped the ladle and went into the other room. Vasu was tossing and turning and the blanket and bed clothes were all tangled together. Radha could see the sweat beading his forehead. She touched his forehead, wiping away the sweat. She poured him a glass of water. He drank thirstily.

"Mother," his voice was a thin thread of sound. "My head is paining,"

"I will bring the oushadhi now," she said. "You just lie there quietly." She stroked his forehead.

"The... light... hurts..."

She closed the window and the door, plunging the room into gloom. Going into the kitchen, she found the herbal paste that the vaidya had given for headache and came back into the room. She applied the paste lightly on to his forehead, using her fingertips to smooth it over. After washing her hands, she came and sat next to him, stroking his hair and face till he fell asleep again.

Muttering a prayer of thanks to the Aswins, she went back to the kitchen. She still had lots of work left. Only Vasu's broth was ready. Perhaps she could decorate the front of her house too and join her neighbours for a while in greeting the Maharaja and his new Maharani after she had finished her other works.

She placed a hand over her belly where her child was growing. All she could pray was that this one would be healthy, though most of her prayers were for her eldest.
Six

The palace of Hastinapura was an imposing building. It was the boast of the Kurus that there was none like it in the entire Aryavarta. No other Maharaja had ever sought to dispute that claim, and it was only in part due to the fear inspired by Bheeshma, who was the Senapati of the Kuru armies and uncle to the present Maharaja.

The palace was large, and built of stone, just like all palaces of all Maharajas all over Aryavarta. But the palace of Hastinapura was taller and covered more area than any other palace of the time. The vast courtyard housing the palace was fully four yojanas in area. The tall and thick wall that surrounded it was octagonal in shape and one kosha tall. The palace itself covered an area of one yojana. It was surrounded by gardens, orchards and groves as well as several mansions for the use of visiting royalty.

The stone walls of the palace had been polished so much that they shone like gems. Large and thick doors made of wood opened to let a visitor to the palace into a large hall with a ceiling that was full ten dandas high. Large pillars in rows supported the ceiling. The pillars were carved with figures of dancing women and other such, and the walls were covered with colourful tapestries depicting stories of gods and goddesses and famous rulers belonging to the clan of the Kurus.

A casual visitor might go through to the next room, which was also large, and which was a kind of atrium. It was circular in shape, and from it led a number of corridors, each leading to a different area of the palace. One led to the Rajasabha where the Maharaja held court, another to the smaller sabhas where minor matters relating to administration were attended to; yet another led to the poor houses where the destitute could be assured of a full meal; another led to the dining areas for the Brahmanas where these luminaries could eat their fill; another led to the guest chambers; another to the servant's quarters; another to the guard houses; another to the dining areas for the lower castes; and a last one to another circular room mirroring this one.

The corridors branching from this room were few in number and no guest was ever allowed to step foot either inside the room or the corridor leading to the room. For, one of the corridors leading from the room led to the living quarters of the Maharaja, another to the Anthahpura which housed the ladies of the household including the Maharaja's wives and concubines; a third one led to the quarters of the other members of the royal household. All these royal apartments were linked to one another by innumerable corridors which spread through the palace like blood vessels. There were corridors that could take the Maharaja anywhere in the palace, if he knew them well enough.

The present monarch of Hastinapura, for all his paleness of complexion, was an observant man, and he knew all the corridors he needed to take him to the sabha, the practice arena, his own apartments, the dining area or even outside the palace, without his ever needing to come to either of the circular rooms. He was also a strong and healthy man for all his sickly appearance, and a formidable warrior in his own right, though not the equal of his uncle.

Walking by his side, Kunti, his new wife and the new Maharani of Hastinapura strove hard not to let herself be overwhelmed by the palace or its proportions. The palace of Kunti was large, but not the monstrosity this one was. And Kunti had never seen so many corridors in one palace before. The architecture of the place was impressive, but in spite of the lit sconces fixed to the wall, the colourful tapestries adorning the wall, the vases overgrown with flowers kept at every corner, and the statues of dancing women and men at regular intervals, Kunti felt a dreariness creep on her soul. The palace of Hastinapura was like a giant beast, waiting to devour whoever stepped into its gaping maws.

The footsteps of the Maharaja and the Maharani and of those who accompanied them echoed in the silent corridors, causing the bride to shiver involuntarily. Pandu directed a questioning gaze at her, to which she returned a tremulous smile, though her insides were all churning in nervous tension. The Maharaja seemed reassured by the smile, however, and he refrained from making any further enquiries.

The Maharaja stopped before a set of doors, carved with leaves. The heralds announced the Maharaja in stentorian accents and the doors opened. A tall man, dressed well in clothes that would not look amiss on a Maharaja approached them with a broad smile. Only as he reached their side, did it strike Kunti that he was blind.

"Pandu!" He said, beaming.

"Bhrata," Pandu embraced him before bending down to touch his feet, indicating to his bride to do the same. Kunti touched the man's feet and was bade to rise.

"Welcome to Hastinapura," he smiled at her, before turning to Pandu and inviting him in. Kunti followed the two men, marvelling all the time at the warmth that was between the two which was in direct contrast to the frigidity that seemed to characterize Pandu's relation with Vidura, though both hid it behind a facade of cordiality. She had no doubt that this man was Dhritarashtra, the elder brother of both Pandu and Vidura.

Kunti's fury blazed up at the thought of Vidura and she kept her eyes lowered, so no one would see the rage in them. She pressed her lips together in anger, but this time it was directed at herself. She did not want to lose her control and equilibrium so easily. But Vidura seemed to be able to do it without even trying. She smoothed her features into impassivity and forced her anger to abate as she waited for Gandhari, the wife of Dhritarashtra to come and lead her into the inner apartments where the women dwelt.
Seven

The Maharaja of Madra, Salya welcomed his august visitor with every appearance of cordiality even while his brain was busy with speculation. It was not often that Bheeshma, the Kuru Senapati and patriarch stirred outside the boundaries of his prosperous Kingdom. And generally, Bheeshma's visits to other Kingdoms were not without his own agenda. Aryavarta still talked about how Bheeshma had once abducted the three princesses of Kasi from their own Swayamvara to be forcibly married to his younger brother, the boy Maharaja Vichitravirya who had died less than a year later, leaving behind two young widows and an orphaned Kingdom. Rumours said that Bheeshma had arranged to have killed the eldest of the three, who had refused to marry Vichitravirya, but not before raping her.

Salya while lending no credence to rumour, did not completely discount them either. At the time, Madra was a small Kingdom, but prosperous, its people contented, and the Kingdom was in good terms with all its neighbours. Salya was a young Maharaja, and ambitious, as all young men were wont to be, but he was neither foolish nor inexperienced. He had been involved in the day to day running of the Kingdom ever since he completed his studies, and he had also travelled the length and breadth of his Kingdom to make himself aware of the problems being faced by his people. Bheeshma's visit gave him no pleasure, although he welcomed the patriarch with every appearance of joy.

The Palace of Madra was not large when compared to the palace of Hastinapura, but it was built on more flowing lines. It gave the beholder an impression of grace and elegance. Bheeshma was conscious of a feeling of being out of place in this beautiful building which seemed full of light as opposed to his own palace, full of dim corridors and airless rooms. He took his seat inside a large chamber which was colourful and airy. The furniture was as good as the ones that adorned his room in Hastinapura, and somehow that annoyed him.

Salya asked him about his health and they exchanged pleasantries about the weather, about the condition of roads, and about his journey. But Bheeshma was getting tired of small talk, and he said,

"I came here with a purpose, Maharaja Salya."

Salya looked warily at his guest. The Maharaja was a man of medium height and looked small before the imposing figure that Bheeshma cut. He had irregular features, a beak-like nose, eyes that were set too widely apart, and a square stubborn jaw and thick lips. But his eyes were keen and shrewd and so brilliant that most men who met Salya could not remember much more than that the Maharaja was overpowering in personality.

"I had not imagined you had come for the climate, Senapati Bheeshma," he replied.

Bheeshma gave him a sharp look. "I came to request the hand of your sister for my nephew," he said. "An alliance with the Kurus could only add to your Kingdom's reputation,"

"But not to my sister's happiness," Salya remarked, looking as relaxed as ever.

Bheeshma flushed. "What do you mean, Maharaja Salya?"

"Which nephew? Salya asked pensively and not seeming to notice Bheeshma's question.

"Vidura, the Pradhanamantrin of Hastinapura."

The languidity left Salya's form so suddenly that Bheeshma thought for a moment he was facing a different man.

"I think you seek to insult me!" Salya said, anger throbbing beneath his words.

"My nephew is the Pradhanamantrin of Hastinapura and-"

"And he is not your nephew, but the son of a Sudra maid sired by a Sage!" Salya snapped. "By demanding my sister for him, you seek to insult me and every Kshatriya in Aryavarta! Do you really think your prowess in arms entitle you to anything you set your mind on? Think well, Bheeshma. You are not in Kuru now. And if this is the way of the Kurus, then no Maharaja in Aryavarta shall ever form an alliance with you! That is something I shall personally ensure!"

Bheeshma paled, but the justice of the Madra Maharaja's anger and the sense in his words must have penetrated to his head, for he made no angry retort. Bheeshma was no longer hot headed, but that did not mean he would swallow insults.

"I'm sorry you feel thus, and I know you are justified in your wrath. I apologize, though it was not my intention to insult you."

Salya bowed stiffly.

"However," Bheeshma said, "I've an alternate proposal. Give your sister as wife to my nephew, Pandu, the Maharaja of Hastinapura!"

Salya relaxed again. "Maharaja Pandu," he purred. "Oh, we have heard so much about your nephew the Maharaja. My spies have brought such interesting tales."

Bheeshma's frame tensed. "What tales?"

"Of whorehouses visited, of furniture smashed, of whores who lost their tongues and of rooms that had been rebuilt out of the coffers of the Maharaja." Salya shook his head. "Would you marry your sister to such a one?"

Bheeshma's eyes flashed in anger. "Have a care, Maharaja Salya! It's of the Kuru Maharaja that you speak!"

"Let me make myself plain," drawled Salya. "The Maharaja of Kuru might throw tantrums in whorehouses for all he wants, but I shall not ally my sister to a man who has no control over his passions."

Bheeshma drew a deep breath and said stiffly. "That was all in the past. The Maharaja no longer visits whorehouses, nor does he lose control over himself."

"Oh, that is right. I forgot. The Maharaja is married now. Proffer my congratulations, and that of my sister too to the Royal couple."

"Your sister shall be given equal status with Gandhari, wife of my other nephew Dhritarashtra."

"It's not enough," Salya said, "for my sister to be granted equal status with the wife of a blind man. She is fit enough to be the Maharani of a Maharaja, and I will not have her relegated to the place of a second wife."

Bheeshma's eyes were shrewd as he assessed the other man. "What is your price?" he asked abruptly.

"You think my sister is for sale?" Salya was affronted.

"You have given me some plain speaking," Bheeshma said, leaning forward. "Now let me speak plainly, Maharaja Salya. Not only your sister, but you and every blade of grass in this Kingdom is for sale, for the right price. So, name what price you require so my nephew Pandu may marry your sister. And also," Bheeshma paused significantly. "the price for you to never interfere in her life or that of her children again."

Salya sat back, still relaxed. "I wonder if the Kurus can afford that price."

"Name it!" Bheeshma said. "Do not waste my time."

Salya nodded. "All right," he said. "I'll name my price. And if even one gold coin is short, Madri shall stay in Madra."

"You shall find not one coin short," Bheeshma retorted.
Eight

The Palace of Hastinapura was decorated to welcome its new Rani. The three Queen mothers, Satyavati, the step mother of Bheeshma and the grandmother of the present Maharaja, Ambika, the mother of Dhritarashtra, and Ambalika, the mother of the Maharaja, watched the proceedings from the balcony of the Anthahpura which was covered with latticework. Being widows, it was considered inauspicious for them to welcome a new bride. That office fell to Kunti, the Maharani of Hastinapura and the first wife of the Maharaja. She was assisted by Gandhari, the wife of Dhritarashtra.

Dhritarashtra, though blind, stood on the right side of Bheeshma. He was a large man, though not as tall as his uncle, but his powerful physique was evident under his uttariya, which was flung carelessly over one shoulder, leaving most of his torso bare. If not for the ornament that covered his chest, none of the dasis would have taken their eyes off his body. Vidura stood next to him, his face as impassive as ever while Dhritarashtra looked serene. A smile of triumph hovered over Bheeshma's lips. The smile was noticed by Vidura who raised his eye brows slightly in an enquiring manner. It only caused the smile on Bheeshma's face to change into a smirk. Vidura rolled his eyes and turned his head to look at Kunti.

Bheeshma's smile was seen by Kunti too, and her fingers clenched around the Thali she held. But her face remained smiling, and her figure remained relaxed. Next to her Gandhari stood ready with a lit lamp, the black silk tied over her eyes emphasizing the fairness of her complexion. Gandhari was a small woman, but she stood straight and her bearing held elegance as well as arrogance. Behind her stood the dasis with flower baskets and other necessities for welcoming the new Rani. Kunti saw Vidura look at her with a mocking smile and she stiffened, but only for a moment. She relaxed and turned her head to look at him and raised her eyebrows at him with a mocking smile of her own before turning back to face the doorway.

The large ponderous chariot stopped in front of the palace steps, and grooms came to hold the horses still while servants and attendants went to fetch the footstool and steps to help the Rani descend from the chariot. The Maharaja's guard stood in a row, straight and alert. The Maharaja alighted from the chariot, looking weary and helped his Rani alight.

There was almost a gasp from the assembled crowd at the first sight of Madri. They felt as if an apsara from Swargaloka had deigned to grace their Kingdom. And they could not be blamed for thinking that. The Princess of Madra was perfect in appearance. Her blue black hair was thick and the braids resembled the coils of a serpent, as it hung low down to her ankles. Her complexion was creamy and flawless, and her doe-eyes, lined with kajal were large and luminous. They were fringed with thick lashes, that at the moment lay against her rosy cheeks, the bride having lowered her eyes shyly. Above her eyes, were thick brows in a natural arch. In their centre was a red bindi above which the sindoor at the parting of her hair denoted her wedded status. Her nose was straight and her lips were moulded. Her face was heart-shaped and a small mole graced the right side of her chin.

Her body was equally perfect. The red sari that was draped around her, clung to her form, emphasizing her curves. Her shapely arms were covered upto the elbow with jewelled bangles that caught the light and reflected it as she walked. Jewelled chains adorned her neck and hung down low to her navel. She moved slowly and gracefully. The Maharaja held her hand and they shared a smile as they mounted the steps. The smile was not lost on those who stood on top of the steps to welcome the royal couple. Kunti's smile became fixed, Bheeshma's smile broadened, and Vidura was as impassive as ever.

The smile was also noticed by the three Maharanis watching from the balcony, and their glances became worried. Well they knew what dissension could be caused by two Ranis competing for the Maharaja's affections. The Maharanis Ambika and Ambalika, though married to the same Maharaja had never felt the need to compete for his affections, their sisterly affection for each other and the tie of their blood superceding the desire to have the husband's attention all to themselves. But Kunti and Madri were not sisters and the same could not be said for them. Well these ladies knew the weakness in Pandu that prevented him from noticing naught other than his own pleasures, and they knew he could not be depended on to quench the flames of the rivalry before they took root in both Ranis' hearts.

No such thought or fear affected Bheeshma. He had little knowledge or experience of women, having sworn himself to celibacy at an early age. And if Vidura, with his experience, intelligence and intuition saw the storm about to brew in the royal apartments, he chose not to warn the Patriarch. He was still smarting under the news imparted by Bheeshma that his marriage had been fixed to the Sudra daughter of a Maharaja. So, he was to be married to the illegitimate daughter of a Maharaja while his brothers both married blue blooded princesses. The injustice of the system that condemned him to a life of servitude to his own brothers, even though he was better than both of them burned him. But there was little he could do, but to bide his time. Pandu was impotent after all, and no matter how many princesses he married, there would be no heir forthcoming for the throne of Hastinapura.

Of course, it was possible that an heir could come from Dhritarashtra and Gandhari, but it was unlikely. Having once been chosen unfit to be Maharaja, it was not likely that any child of Dhritarashtra could be considered a suitable heir to the throne. After Pandu, he might get his chance. He just needed to be patient.

None of these thoughts showed on his face as he paid his respects to the Maharaja and his new bride. Though Madri was beautiful, she did not attract him in the least. It seemed evident that she was a docile creature, unlike Kunti who was fiery and who managed to rouse the devil in him every time. Pandu was in for a rude shock if he thought his first wife would complacently welcome his second wife.

The formalities complete, the new Rani of Hastinapura was led into the bowels of the huge palace by Kunti and Gandhari, the latter being led by a dasi.
Nine

Bheeshma was smiling as he was walking through one of the corridors that led to a small chamber where the spies brought their daily reports to the Pradhanamantrin. It was no longer part of Bheeshma's duties to listen to these reports or to advice the Pradhanamantrin, but habits died hard. And if Vidura was irked by his uncle's presence, he had not expressed it so far. Vidura was alone when Bheeshma entered. The chamber was small, bare of ostentation, the only window was high up, and was meant to provide ventillation rather than light. There was a small table, two chairs, and a metal stand with a pot of burning coals on it stood near the table. The sconces on the wall held burning torches.

Vidura was burning some parchments in the pot when Bheeshma entered. Bheeshma frowned but did not speak as he sat down in one of the chairs. Vidura burned a few more parchments and came to sit in the other chair, facing Bheeshma.

"You seem very pleased," he said now, drumming his fingers on the table.

"I am," Bheeshma said. "I think I've managed to discomfit that arrogant Maharani."

Vidura looked heavenward. "Was that what you did?"

Bheeshma stared at him in surprise. "You object to it?"

"My objections now would be rather superfluous, would they not?"

"I didn't go to Madra to demand Madri for Pandu," Bheeshma said. "But it seemed prudent to have the Maharaja for an ally."

"Why? Madra is not that powerful a Kingdom. Nor is it the nearest one to have a princess of marriageable age."

"Maharaja Salya seemed a good ally to have. I've heard reports that he is a good warrior."

"Coming from you, that is high praise," conceded Vidura.

"I also wanted to discomfit Kunti. She's too arrogant. She dares look upon me with contempt!"

"Does she now? My respect for our Maharani increases."

Bheeshma frowned. "Do you mean I'm contemptible?"

"Of course not, uncle. But the man who has, through rather unscrupulous methods, obtained two wives for an impotent Maharaja might not be the most popular person with those women."

"So? They are only women. Does it matter how they feel?"

"Maybe not. But have you considered the repercussions of what you did? Pandu is not capable of impregnating his wives. There won't be an heir to Hastinapura. When Kunti was the only wife, it could have been blamed on her. But with Madri too married to him, the world shall know Pandu is impotent."

"I don't see what difference it makes to have Madri married to him. If we had blamed Kunti, the world would have expected him to marry again. And then, the truth would have been out. As it is, now we can do something to forestall the exposure."

"I don't see how you are going to wriggle out of this one, but I'd be interested."

"What were the reports you burned?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

Bheeshma coloured. It was the first time Vidura had implied that the reports of the spies was no longer his concern. But he made no angry retort.

"Let's talk about your forthcoming nuptials then."

"Oh yes. Let's talk about how you finally managed to find for me a bride of equal status."

"You think I've been unfair to you? There's not a Kshatriya woman in the entire Aryavarta who would have you. You know that too."

"They would have if I had been the Maharaja of Hastinapura!"

"We've been through this before, Vidura." Bheeshma said. "I'm really not interested in your whining. You can marry this girl I chose for you or you can find someone who meets your expectations. But I tell you now that you shall never find what you want. Get real, nephew. Your birth disqualifies you."

"Then why am I the Pradhanamantrin?" Vidura demanded. "Doesn't my birth disqualify me from that position too?"

"It does, but it's something people are ready to overlook. A Maharaja is a different matter altogether." Bheeshma paused. "If you have any ideas of ever becoming the Maharaja, put it out of your mind. That shall never happen!"

Vidura's face tightened in anger. He said nothing, but glared at his uncle in hatred. Bheeshma's gaze was cool, and Vidura dropped his eyes drawing a deep breath.

"I don't want to be married just yet," he grated out.

"All right. Maharaja Devaka and his daughter shall await the Kurus' convenience. But marry her, you will, for she's promised to you now."

"Let's talk about something else," Vidura said, irritatedly.

"I've decided that Pandu shall go on a Dig Vijaya a month hence."

"Are you hoping he will get killed? He's too good a warrior."

"I know. But it will take at least a year to finish such a campaign. No one shall wonder why Hastinapura does not have an heir yet."

Vidura chuckled. "Neat. But have you talked to our monarch?"

"He will do as I say. He has always done so."

"Yes, he has, hasn't he?" Vidura murmured. "But you would at best be postponing the inevitable. Once he comes back, we are back in the same position. Unless you mean to tell the world that he had sustained some - ah- injury that affects his virility."

"No," Bheeshma said. "I'm hoping a long military campaign might cure him of this- disability. Even though he'd a good warrior, he has never been tested. He has been pampered and that is probably why he finds himself unable to- well- you know what I mean." Bheeshma's face was red as he finished.

"I do. And I do hope you are right. But what if you are not?"

"There's always Niyoga," Bheeshma said dismissively.

"Is there? Niyoga is somewhat difficult to keep secret, is it not?"

"It won't be required. Once he comes back from the Dig Vijaya, Pandu shall be able to prove his manhood."

"You know uncle, there's something I've been meaning to ask you for long." Vidura paused, watching Bheeshma carefully. "Did you really have her killed? Your wife? The Rajakumari Amba?"

Bheeshma stood up so suddenly his chair fell with a clatter on to the stone floor. "Never," he said through gritted teeth. "speak her name to me! Ever!"

He strode out, angry. Vidura looked at the pot where the fire had burned down to glowing coals and smiled.
Ten

The night was sultry. Not an occasional breeze stirred the curtains in the royal apartments, or caused the flames of the burning torches or the lamps to flicker. The Maharaja of Hastinapura stood on the balcony, and surveyed his Kingdom, a twisted smile on his lips.

Pandu was a tall man, and though he looked slender and unhealthily pale, his visage was handsome and his limbs well proportioned. His torso was muscled and scarred as befitting a Kshatriya warrior, and his arms and shoulders bore the scars from the bowstring. Some of the scars on his body were from his recent Dig Vijaya campaign from which he had returned successfully only a few days back.

The campaign had been gruelling, but it had helped him keep his mind off other things. And it had helped that he could vent his frustrations on the battlefield. The Sutas sang that he was so fierce on the battle that enemies surrendered at his very sight. While that was certainly an exaggeration, it was true that he was more aggressive, even savage on the battlefield.

The triumphant return of the Maharaja of Hastinapura to his capital bearing uncounted riches from the defeated nations were sung at every corner of Aryavarta. His generosity at laying that wealth at his elder brother's feet, and the reciprocation by that brother by directing the Maharaja to distribute it amongst the people were being lauded by every man in Hastinapura. But standing here in the balcony of his palace, gazing at his Kingdom, Pandu felt his heart shrink in his breast as bitterness filled it. What use all his might, all his wealth, all his generosity, when he knew what he was! He was not a man, he was less than even a beast, and whatever he did, whatever he achieved, was not enough to make him a man.

He gripped the balustrade tight, as his eyes went to the distant mountains. He wanted an escape, an escape from the confines of the palace, an escape from the expectations of his uncle, of his ministers, of his people, and above all an escape from the knowing eyes of that bastard half-brother of his. He did not know what his uncle was thinking, making him the Pradhanamantrin! And now he behaved as though he owned the place, and looked at him as though he knew his secret. Vidura had always held him in some contempt, he knew, though it was not as obvious as his contempt for Dhritarashtra. But it galled Pandu. How dared this son of a maid presume to hold the Kuru Princes in contempt!

To get away from the palace would be a relief. He would go on a hunting trip. He had always loved hunting. Yes, that would give him the relaxation he craved after the wearying Dig Vijaya campaign.

Having decided, Pandu immediately sent for his uncle as well as for the Sthapathi.

Bheeshma was the first to arrive. He looked disgruntled. "What is it Pandu? What was so urgent that it could not wait till the morning?"

"I'm going on a hunting trip," Pandu replied. "I need to relax and enjoy the beauties of nature after the taxing campaign of conquest I just completed."

Bheeshma nodded. "Hunting is a suitable pastime for Kshatriyas, but is this the right time?"

"Yes!" Pandu snapped. "This is when I need the relaxation. What better time could there be?"

"You just got back. Your Kingdom needs you."

"You didn't think that when it was your will that I go on the Dig Vijaya," Pandu said coldly. "I'm the Maharaja, and this is my will. If the Kingdom didn't fall apart when I went on Dig Vijaya, it won't fall apart when I go on a hunting trip."

Bheeshma compressed his lips and said. "As you wish, but there will be unnecessary talk if you leave your wives behind."

"A forest is no place for women," said Pandu dismissively.

"All the same, Maharajas used to be accompanied by their wives during hunting trips in the past. It's not an unusual thing." Bheeshma hesitated and then said. "You've been apart from your wives for over a year. And now, if you again go away, leaving them behind, it could lead to people speculating about their character."

Pandu glared at his uncle, but Bheeshma met his eyes calmly. Pandu turned around and walked to where a small round table stood holding a jug containing wine and a couple of goblets. He poured some wine into a goblet and drained it. Then he turned to Bheeshma, the goblet still clutched in his hand.

"Fine. I'll take them."

Bheeshma bowed. "I shall tell Vidura to make the arrangements."

"No need," Pandu said sharply. "I've sent for the Sthapathi. I shall direct him."

"It's not meet that you do that," Bheeshma protested.

"And I prefer that my bastard half-brother not be involved in my affairs unless it's absolutely necessary!"

Bheeshma winced, but bowed again. "When are you proposing to leave?"

"Tomorrow morning at sunrise."

"Tomorrow?" Bheeshma was horrified. "Pandu! There just isn't enough time to make all the arrangements! That is too soon!"

"Nonsense! There's more than enough time. Besides, It's for Sravana to do; why are you bothered?"

Bheeshma looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he bit his lips, and spoke, "I shall take my leave of you then."

Pandu nodded carelessly. He was tired of his uncle's always trying to talk to him as if he were a child. Besides, what was the big deal in arranging for a hunting trip?

The Sthapathi came in as soon as Bheeshma left.

"I'm taking my wives and going on a hunting trip." Pandu said. "Make all necessary arrangements for our departure at sunrise tomorrow. Also arrange to have a message sent to the Anthahpura to inform the Ranis."

"Sunrise tomorrow, Rajan?" Sravana quailed at Pandu's glare.

"That's what I said, is it not?"

"Of course, of course. It shall be done as you command."

Sravana bowed himself out. Pandu turned to the attendants to indicate he was ready for bed. He had to get a good night's sleep if he was to leave at sunrise.
Eleven

Atiratha made his way home, feeling more tired than usual. He was longing to see his family again. The streets of Hastinapura were deserted. The city was in mourning. Atiratha had feared that he would never be able to see his family again. But fortunately, such a situation did not come to pass. The Sutas and soldiers were mostly sent back. The muffled sobs of the dasis who had to stay behind had made Atiratha thank his stars that his Radha was a Suta and hence not suitable to be a dasi.

He wondered how Vasu was doing. His health had improved a lot this last year, Radha had told him. Vasu had not fallen ill even a single time. It was difficult to keep him indoors these days, Radha had told him, hovering between laughter and exasperation. She still worried about him, he could see. And when Vasu came in at the evening, Atiratha was astounded. In place of the frail, sickly child he'd left behind, he was faced with a sturdy lad, who looked like he'd never had a day's illness.

Atiratha rued the days he'd spent away from his family, accompanying the Maharaja on his Dig Vijaya. There was not even any certainty that he would return alive. Sutas were often targeted by enemy warriors though the rules of Dharma Yuddha clearly prohibited it. The death of a Suta would cause the chariot to run amok since there was no one to control the horses, unless the Kshatriya warriors took the reins themselves. Apart from those of royal birth, most warriors were fairly inept at handling the reins.

Atiratha had been lucky. He was injured in the war, but he had survived. And when he'd come back after the long campaign, he'd been hoping for some rest and some time with his family. But it was not to be. The Maharaja had wanted to go on a hunting trip and all the Sutas who could still hold the reins had been forced to go as well. But now, he was back, and though he had no idea what the future was going to bring, he could hope it would be better.

His left shoulder still twinged painfully. It was with great difficulty that he could hold the reins or wield the whip. In the evenings, it had felt as if his arm was on fire. Even now it felt like it could fall off any moment. The Vaidyas who attended to the ordinary soldiers and the Sutas were not very skilled. Nor were they much interested in seeing them fully recovered, since they were all expendable.

He had survived anyway due to God's grace. And now he was back home too. He did not know if the new Maharaja would accept him into his service or would pension him off, but either way he did not mind. He was not concerned about who might be the next Maharaja. That was for the Kshatriyas and the Brahmanas to decide.

Radha was in the kitchen when he reached home. She came running when he called out to her. He brought water for him to wash his feet and then spread the mat for him to sit. She brought food and water and sat near him while he ate. Once the food was eaten and the plates cleared, he asked. "Where's Vasu?"

"He's gone to play with the other boys."

"It's not good for the boys to be out today. What if the soldiers saw them? The city is in mourning."

"The soldiers were boys once too," Radha said comfortingly. "They know what children are like. I didn't have the heart to make him stay indoors when the sun is shining so bright. Let him play. I had prayed for a day when he could..." her voice choked with tears.

Atiratha placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, what is this? You should be happy he's such a strong healthy boy now." He wiped away her tears. "There's nothing to cry for now."

"Is it true what they say?" Radha asked in a hushed voice. "About the Maharaja?"

Atiratha rose and went to the door, looking outside to make sure no one was listening before closing the door and coming back. He sat down on the mat and said heavily, "Yes."

Radha clapped a hand to her mouth, horrified. "And they say... they say Mala and Jayanti are not coming back." her voice was a whisper.

"I don't know," Atiratha said. "Some... some had to stay back... It's the lot of the dasi."

"But their children!" Radha whispered. "What will come of them? Who will take care of them? Mala's baby is but six months old!"

"Their grandmothers will take care of them," Atiratha said, wincing as he tried to support himself using his left hand. "It's how things are. What are we to do?"

"I know," Radha said, as she brought a pillow and eased him to lay his back on it. She started massaging his left arm, but it only increased the pain and he pulled it free.

"Perhaps you should go to the Vaidya here," Radha said. "I'm sure he'll be able to lessen the pain."

Atiratha nodded. "I shall go to him tomorrow. I'm exhausted today. "

There was a banging on the door and Radha went to open it. Two soldiers barged in, holding a young boy of six by his arms. They checked on seeing Atiratha.

"Is this your son, Atiratha?" one asked.

"Yes, Srutasena," Atiratha replied, rising, feeling alarmed. "What has he done?"

"He was out playing and when we told him to go home because we are mourning for the Maharaja, he said he did not care. He wanted to play, and if we want to mourn the Maharaja, we can go and mourn him!"

"Vasu?" Radha's voice was shocked. The boy hung his head. Vasu had changed a lot in appearance. He was no longer pale though he was still thin, though it might have been in part because he was tall for his age. His skin seemed to be golden in colour in the sunshine that was streaming inside. His dark hair was thick and no longer straggly. There was a sullen expression in the black eyes.

"Keep him inside, and I'd give him a good hiding if he were mine." Srutasena said as he released Vasu with a shove. Radha caught him from stumbling. The soldiers marched out, slamming the door behind them.

"What possessed you to be rude to the Maharaja's soldiers?" Atiratha demanded. "Don't you know who they are?"

"I don't care. They were the ones who were rude first!" Vasu said defiantly. "They could have just told us, instead they were pushing us and calling us brats and other names."

"Be that as it may," Atiratha said, "They are Kshatriyas, and they can do whatever they want. It's for us to avoid trouble."

Radha had her arm around the child. "You won't do anything like that again, will you?"

He sighed. "I won't," he muttered sullenly.

Atiratha heaved a sigh of relief.
Twelve

Night was falling when a stranger approached the gates of Hastinapura. He was dark, not very tall, but not short either, and wore the red robes of a sage. He was adorned with bracelets of Rudraksha beads while a long chain of Rudraksha beads hung down to his navel. His Uttariya was wrapped around his torso crosswise and its end was draped over one arm. His hair was matted and some of it was piled on top of his head in a knot. The rest hung down to his back. His beard and moustache were thick and hid the lower part of his face with his thick lips barely visible. His beard was tangled and reached down to his chest. His black eyes were fringed with thick bushy lashes. His age could not be determined, for though his face was unlined, and his hair untouched by grey, his eyes looked old. Though not tall, he carried himself straight and with authority. He was barefooted and carried a Yogadandu in one hand.

The guards at the gates stood straighter as they saw him, and their Nayaka addressed him respectfully, saying,

"Welcome, oh great Krishna Dwaipayana. Senapati Bheeshma has been awaiting your arrival anxiously since afternoon."

"I was delayed," the sage said. "I shall go to my brother immediately."

"But you must be wanting to refresh yourself first," the Nayaka said.

"I'm above the needs of flesh," the sage responded, "There's no need to accompany me. I know the way."

"Of course," the Nayaka said, bowing as the sage made his way through the crowded thoroughfare.

"Who is he?" one of the young guards asked. "Why does he call Senapati Bheeshma as his brother?"

"That is the sage Krishna Dwaipayana also known as Veda Vyasa," the Nayaka replied. "He is the son of our former Maharani Satyavati, and hence brother to Senapati Bheeshma."

The guard digested this in astounded silence. Then, "But he looks very unclean and uncouth, doesn't he? And that stink! How can he be allowed entry in the royal palace?"

The Nayaka smiled. "And who'll bar him entry? He's more than just another sage, more even than the son of the former Maharani."

"What do you mean?"

But the Nayaka only shook his head. "It's my head on the block if the spies carry tales to the Mahamatya. I've spoken too much, as it is. Look sharp. A group of men are coming."

The guard nodded as he turned to his duty and the Nayaka too turned to questioning the leader of the visitors.

The subject of their discussion was, in the meantime, wending his way sedately towards the royal palace. He was aware of curious eyes of other passers by on him, and of the wide berth given him by them. It was only partly due to respect. Part of it was the fear of incurring his wrath if he was jostled. If the sage found anything odd in their fear, he did not show it. His visage was calm, and his eyes too were serene. The crowd thinned as he approached the better part of the city. Here, the roads were wider, and chariots could be seen passing by. Most people walked on the stones on the side of the street. The streets here were lined with shady trees and houses were set at a distance from the streets. Side streets led to normally bustling markets, which were all empty now, and gave a forlorn appearance at this hour.

Groups of guards were patrolling the streets. Though some stared at him as he turned to the wide street that led to the palace, none stopped him. The palace gates were closed, though at his approach, the gates opened and the Nayaka came forward to greet him.

"Welcome, O great one. I've been ordered to show you into the palace."

The sage inclined his head, an amused smile curving his lips, though all he said was, "Lead the way,"

The path to the palace was as wide as a street. There was width enough for two chariots to go side by side. The path was lined with shady trees and flowering creepers had climbed on the trees to create a thick canopy. Flames covered with glass with a small hole on top were kept at regular intervals on pillars that were chest high. Beyond the trees lay wide expanses of lawns and gardens, though all were in darkness now. The sound of water flowing over stones could be heard and the sage smiled softly. As they approached the palace, the lighted pillars became more frequent and the sage was led up the steps, where waited Bheeshma himself.

"Bhrata," Bheeshma said, coming forward and bending to touch his feet.

"Ayushman Bhavah," the sage blessed him. May you have a long life. Something like a grimace passed over Bheeshma's face at the blessing.

"I shall show you to the chambers allotted to you," Bheeshma said, ignoring the maids who were strewing flower petals at their feet. "You shall refresh yourself and rest. We shall talk in the morning."

"And yet, you were anxious for my arrival," the sage remarked.

Bheeshma sighed deeply. The sage could notice that the lines on his face looked more pronounced while there was a definite slump to his shoulders. "I think.... some matters are better discussed during the day."

Krishna Dwaipayana nodded. "I understand."

"You must be grieving too," Bheeshma said.

The sage shook his head. "I hardly know him. Besides, I'm a sage, and above all attachments."

"And are you?" Bheeshma asked softly.

A faint smile graced the dark face of the sage. "We're all human," he replied, though he remained quiet the rest of the way.

He was led into a large chamber which was bare of all furnishings, except for a wooden cot on which was spread a straw mattress. A small table holding an earthen jug and goblets stood near the cot. The walls were all bare and a deer skin was spread near one of the walls.

"I hope that isn't the deer," the sage said.

Bheeshma gave a chuckle. "No, It isn't." he paused and looked at the sage, sobering. "I didn't want to do it."

"I know," the sage said. "You had no choice. I understand."

Bheeshma nodded and he left the room after ensuring that the sage was comfortable. Once he had left, the sage stood in the middle of the room, looking around. He smiled again, a smile tinged with amusement as he crossed to the deerskin and sat down on it in the lotus pose, and closed his eyes, the faint smile still lingering on his face.
Thirteen

The palace of Hastinapura was glinting in the sun, though the glint did not affect the people gathered in its courtyard. The pavilion that was erected kept the sun from the assembled crowd, and the royal pavilion was shady enough for the newly crowned Maharaja and Maharani of Hastinapura. Dhritarashtra sat erect on the throne, his sightless eyes staring ahead, his Maharani Gandhari, her eyes tied with a piece of opaque black silk at his left. Behind him stood Vidura, stony faced, looking straight ahead. Bheeshma sat to one side, sitting straight, though the lines on his face looked more pronounced. Kripa, the newly appointed Rajaguru sat on the right hand side of the Maharaja. His red robes, matted hair and long beard made his age difficult to determine, though it was rumoured he was the same age as the former monarch Vichitravirya. Kripa looked serene, though his gaze darted to Vidura ever so often, and sometimes to the crowd. A faint look of pity registered on his eyes as they went to the blind couple.

The coronation over, the various visiting royalty from in and around Aryavarta came to the royal couple with their gifts, which the attendants accepted and kept aside in the place designated for it. The Maharaja of Madra was conspicuous by his absence and the Maharaja of Gandhara was represented by his son, Sakuni who embraced Dhritarashtra warmly. Gandhari smiled at her brother, and gripped his hand tight. Vidura bowed to him, and the bow was returned politely. The visiting royalty were all led away by attendants to the quarters assigned to them in the palace where they were to rest and refresh themselves before starting for their respective Kingdoms. Once the Maharajas had gone to their quarters, it was time for the new Maharaja to go down to make gifts to the Brahmanas. Dhritarashtra was helped by Vidura, and Gandhari by a dasi.

Vidura's face was impassive as he led the Maharaja to the area designated for granting of presents. He narrated in a monotonous voice the details of gifts that were kept to be handed over to the Brahmanas as they came forward. Slowly, the pavilion emptied, and the Maharaja and the Maharani made their way back into the palace. Vidura led the Maharaja into the Sabha, gestured to an attendant to take his place behind the Maharaja, and took his own seat as Pradhanamantrin. Bheeshma gave him a furtive glance, but Vidura stared straight ahead, and paid no attention to the goings on in the sabha, leaving the Maharaja to his devices. He answered questions only when asked and sat in brooding silence the rest of the time. Since he had been almost the same during Pandu's reign, no one noticed anything amiss except the eagle eyes of Bheeshma which had lost none of their sharpness due to age. He spoke often, making suggestions and recommending course of actions, which the Maharaja followed meekly. At one point, Vidura gave a contemptuous glance to the Senapati, which Bheeshma missed, being engrossed in telling the Maharaja how to pass judgement over a dispute.

Vidura sat still till the sabha was concluded, then rose as the Maharaja was led out, waited till the sabha was empty before going briskly through one of the corridors that led to the stables. He barked an order to the grooms who saddled a horse and brought it to him. He mounted it and rode off, curtly declining the groom's offer to accompany him. The groom shrugged. The Mahamatya was a Sudra after all. One couldn't expect him to behave like the Kshatriyas.

Vidura soon crossed the city gates, the guards standing to attention when he passed, and wondering where he was going, though they dared not even discuss it among themselves. The Mahamatya appeared to be in a hurry, and if his mood was anything like the look on his face when there was some delay in opening the gates, they did not want to risk his spies finding out they were gossipping about him. They could not help wonder where he was going to, in such a hurry, but dared not ask.

Having left Hastinapura behind, Vidura slowed down, and made his way to the forests. He carefully guided his horse through the grassy paths, that still bore the indents of the wheels belonging to the many chariots that had passed not too long ago. The grass had grown back at many places, but at others, patches of dead grass could be seen bearing the mark of hunting chariots and horses' hooves. Once he entered the woods, however, the paths were all overgrown, and no tracks could be seen. But Vidura made his certain way across the forest, to reach a small clearing. There he dismounted, and looked around, and then went into the woods in a northerly direction, leading his horse. Soon, he reached what appeared to be the hunting camp of a Maharaja. There was the large hut and smaller huts scattered on the periphery. A couple of dasis were preparing food while some dasas were bringing wood. They all stopped what they were doing as they saw Vidura. Vidura made an imperious gesture to one of the dasas and he came running to take the horse. With a look of grim determination, Vidura went into the large hut.

Pandu was reclining on a comfortable couch within, his head on Madri's lap. Kunti sat next to one of the windows, looking out, boredom and indifference evident in every line of her body. Vidura's eyes lingered on her even as he greeted his brother.

"Vidura!" Pandu sat up, flustered and angry. He opened his mouth and then shut it as if he remembered that he no longer was Maharaja and that there were no longer any heralds to announce others. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to bring you the good news, of course," Vidura said, now carefully avoiding looking at Kunti. "Your elder brother had been coronated Maharaja of Hastinapura in your stead."

"He should have been the Maharaja in the first place." Pandu said heavily.

"Yes," Vidura agreed. "But uncle deemed him unfit because he was blind."

"He was only partially blind then," Pandu said. "And that Vaidya seemed to be doing him some good. He could once recognize the colour of my uttariya. What happened to that Vaidya anyway?"

"Uncle sent him away since he felt that he wasn't helping, and was only giving your brother false hope."

"I guess uncle knows best," Pandu shrugged. "Perhaps I was wrong."

"Perhaps," Vidura said.

"Anyway, now that he's Maharaja, he could send for that Vaidya again."

"It won't do any good now. The Vaidya had said that the treatment cannot be done once sight is completely lost. There is no hope now of Dhritarashtra ever regaining his sight."

There was silence in the room for a moment. Then Vidura spoke, "It was uncle, wasn't it, who compelled you to give up the throne?"

Pandu nodded. "He said that the slayer of a sage cannot be a Maharaja."

"And do you agree with him?" The dasis laid some refreshments on the small table in front of them. But both men ignored it.

"I know he's wise, and he probably believed he was right," Pandu said heavily. "But no, I don't agree. Kindama deserved to die. If a man must behave like a beast, then he must be prepared to be hunted down like one too. He was mating with deers, I see no reason why I should've spared his life when I wouldn't have spared the deers."

Vidura did not speak his true thoughts. Bheeshma had not been happy at the way Pandu had gone for the hunting trip, ignoring Bheeshma and his advice, and he had used the first pretext he got to make Pandu abdicate, and he had used Pandu's own feelings of worthlessness to bend him to his will. Bheeshma was nothing, if not cunning.

"Can I spend the night here?" Vidura asked.

Pandu nodded. "You can sleep in one of the smaller huts." He gave Vidura a curious glance, then said. "Does it rankle, that you were overlooked once again?"

"No," Vidura said. "I've come to terms with reality. One such as I can never aspire to the throne of Hastinapura."

His eyes went to Kunti as he spoke and he saw the hatred blazing in her eyes. His own remained impassive.
Fourteen

It was a warm day. There was a large area near the river which the children had earmarked for their playground. The girls had marked one corner for their own and the boys another. There was a common area, where both together had planted a garden. The children had marked the area for their own using stones, and since the area was mostly sand and grass, and bounding the woods, the adults did not object. The entire area was circular and the boys had a semi circle and the girls another with a strip of land in between where the plants grew.

The boys' area had a fence made of planks, and a small gate opening to the garden. The girls' area had a fence too, but flowering creepers were planted along its length. The boys' wrestled, played with balls, stones, ran races and when they got tired of all that, went to swim in the river. The open part of their area led to the woods on one side, and sometimes, they went into the woods, though they never went far. The playground that day was full of the shouts of children. A wrestling match was about to begin in the boys' area. Some soldiers were also standing there, a whole troop of them, taking a lot of interest in the proceedings.

The two opponents were circling each other warily. Both were tall, around eight, but one was better proportioned than the other.

"Vasushena shall win," one toddler predicted.

"You say that because he's your brother," an older boy, aged around nine, said. "Veera will pound him to the ground!"

"No, Bhrata Vasu will certainly win!" the toddler chirped again, looking mulish. He was around three.

"I hope so, Sangrama," another older boy aged around eight standing near him, said. "All my money is on your brother."

"Be prepared to lose it then, Asmita!" Another boy, who was around ten, laughed. "Vasushena may be large, but he won't be able to move Veera."

"It's not about size, Vahika," another boy who was also around ten, said. "Vasushena is a novice whereas Veera is more experienced. That's why my money is on Veera. " he smirked at Asmita. "Loyalty is all very well, but you need to use your brains, too."

"Shut up, Bhadra," Asmita said scowling.

The soldiers surged forward. They wanted to watch up close, and the boys parted way grudgingly.

"Hey you," one of them said to Bhadra. "Are you the one collecting money for bets?"

Bhadra nodded cautiously.

"All right, I want to put some money on the larger one. He's Atiradha's son, isn't he?"

"Yes sir, but it's better to bet on Veera. He's more experienced-"

"You do as I say," the soldier scowled.

The other soldiers too wanted to bet on Vasushena, and Bhadra made no more attempts to change their minds.

In the meantime the two boys were still circling each other, their gazes shrewd and sharp. Veera moved suddenly, trying to grasp Vasushena around the middle, but Vasushena evaded the grab and his hands met Veera's. They both exerted pressure on their hands that their muscles bunched. Veera kicked out with his leg and tripped Vasushena, but Vasushena rolled away, and jumped up in one smooth motion. They again circled each other. Veera mopped his brow with his arm, Vasushena shook his head to shake away the beads of sweat that clung to him. Both boys had hair that was long, and both had tied them back, so as to avoid it getting in the way.

Vasushena moved in with a punch to Veera's gut, and Veera countered with one to Vasushena's cheek. Vasushena shook his head again, and Veera rubbed his middle and drew deep breaths. Vasushena again made the first move, trying to punch Veera in the face, but Veera sidestepped, and the back of his hand grazed Veera's shoulder. But Veera's blow caught Vasushena on the temple and Vasushena jumped back and kicked out. Veera avoided the leg and moved in with another blow, this time to Vasushena's gut. Vasushena was winded and Veera moved in to grab him by the middle, and threw him to the ground. Vasushena brought his elbow down on Veera as he grabbed him, but Veera did not let go, squeezing him instead so hard Vasushena could not breath.

"Let him go! You'll break his ribs!" one of the other boys shouted, and Veera lifted Vasushena and threw him on the ground, on his stomach, placing his knee on his back, and twisting his arms behind.

"Do you surrender?" He shouted. Vasushena squirmed, but could not budge the solid bulk of his opponent.

"Do you surrender?" Veera asked again.

"Yes!" Vasushena gasped, and Veera rose, pulling the other boy to his feet.

The soldiers made angry noises as they threw some money at Bhadra and left. Veera grinned at Vasushena.

"Good fight," he said.

"For you," Vasushena laughed. "My whole body feels like someone has driven a heavy chariot over it!"

They both went to the river, to wash themselves. Vasushena had a bruise on his temple and another one on his cheek.

"That can happen in the beginning," Veera said. "But honestly, you can be better. You've speed and strength. All you need is experience, and knowledge."

Vasushena grinned, "I'll come to you daily for lessons,"

They had finished their baths and were dressing by now.

"You'll need to give me Dakshina," Veera winked, as they started back towards the group.

"All right," Vasushena said, laughing now. "What is it you want?"

A sly expression came over Veera's face. "You'll take me with you when you go deep into the woods."

"It's dangerous there," Vasushena said seriously.

"Why do you go there then?"

Vasushena hesitated. "It's a secret."

"I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Vasushena beckoned him closer, and whispered in his ear, "I go there to practice archery."

"Wow!" Veera said, impressed. "Can you show me sometime? Is it difficult?"

"I've just started, and yes, it's difficult. But as my father says, we can't let anyone know because the soldiers may not like it if they learn a Suta is learning archery."

"That's why you go inside the forest," Veera guessed. "Speaking of soldiers, where are they? Normally they wouldn't have left so soon."

"It's the coronation, today," Vasushena said, grinning. "So, they're all busy. They've to get back to the palace before someone realizes they've left."

"Good thing too. They would have been furious and would have taken away the little money we had gathered too since they lost. As it is, we have their money." Veera paused for a moment before asking suddenly, "Does your father know you are practising archery?"

"No, he doesn't."

"But you said-"

"It's the gist of what he says about Sutas and Kshatriyas and what we're supposed to do and all."

Veera chuckled. They joined the crowd of boys where Asmita, Sangrama and a few others joined to commiserate with Vasushena while Bhadra, Vahika and others were around Veera, congratulating him. Soon, Bhadra was gathering money from the losers, and having placed it all in a pouch, he said,

"Thank you all, for this. We have enough money now to pay a Vaidya to come here and treat Visakha's father, and Mala jyeshta's baby. And we should all thank Asmita who came up with the idea. The soldiers all gave generously once we told them we were having a wrestling match."

The boys all laughed, though one or two looked nervously around. They had to be careful that no soldier was around to hear them.

"What if they'd bet on Veera?" Vasushena asked.

Bhadra shrugged. "I'd have told them they made a good bet, and they would have changed their bets. You see, they think we are always trying to cheat them, so if we disagree with their bet, they'll stick to it, and if we agree, they'll change it."

The boys snickered again. Bhadra brought the money to Asmita, handing it over to him. Asmita's father had undertaken to bring a good Vaidya if the money could be arranged. This done, they went to the garden to call the girls and share the good news. The girls had arranged a puppet show for the soldiers earlier, but that had not brought in much money. The children started walking around the garden, looking for weeds, and watering the plants. Soon, the garden was ringing with their laughter and voices.
Fifteen

The forest glade was quiet. The dasis and dasas were all asleep. The fire that was built in the centre of the clearing to keep away the animals was still burning brightly. One of the dasas wrapped in a blanket sat near it, to stoke it and to replenish it with firewood.

In the large hut, Pandu was asleep in his room, and his wives shared the smaller bedroom. Madri, her mind untroubled by dreams of grandeur or by ambitions, fell asleep immediately. It was not so easy for Kunti. She who had cherished grand ambitions of being a Maharani of some great Maharaja of a great Kingdom had been constrained to marry an impotent man. And to add to her shame, a co-wife had been forced on her, and now, nothing but ignominy awaited her. She sat up and slipped out of bed without waking Madri and stood staring out of the window. If her husband was not impotent, the situation could still be salvaged. If she were to give birth to his son before a son was born to Gandhari, she could still claim the throne of Hastinapura for her son. She knew that such a thing would be impossible in the normal course, but the Kurus had never paid much attention to the normal customs and practices, Bheeshma making his own rules. And as much as he disliked her, she knew that he loathed Dhritarashtra more. So, it was possible that he would support the claims of her son. But how was she to manage it when her husband was impotent?

Her thoughts turned to her first child, whom she'd hired assassins to drown. Had he lived now, perhaps she could have convinced her husband to adopt him. But it was too late, and being a practical woman, Kunti did not dwell for long in what-ifs. She had to find a way to either have her husband reinstated as Maharaja or to have a child whom the world will accept as his.

A movement by the fire attracted her attention. It seemed she was not the only one not able to sleep. Vidura stood by the fire, holding out his hands, warming it. At his sight, her fury blazed again. This man was the real author of all her misfortunes! If his cursed spies had not caught one of the assassins and had he not told Vidura about her, he could not have forced her to marry the impotent Maharaja of Hastinapura. She closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down. Perhaps she could use him as he'd sought to use her.

She went out of the room, and out of the hut, standing in the verandah for a moment. The dasa had his back to her, but Vidura could see her. She came down the steps and walked towards the back of the hut, to where the dasas had planted a small garden. It was still a few straggly plants, but there were a few Jasmines among them that were already blooming. She stood there inhaling their fragrance. The full moon hung low in the sky, and gave a ghostly aspect to the surroundings.

"Couldn't sleep?" a voice asked from behind.

"I could ask you the same," she said without turning around.

"And I can ask you what is your purpose in this," he replied.

She turned around to face him, but his face was in shadow.

"My purpose?" She demanded.

"Let's not pretend. You abhor me. And yet, you have deliberately lured me here. I wish to know why."

"You blackmailed me into marrying an impotent man. You are responsible for my plight today. Do you wonder that I hate you?"

"I did my uncle's bidding," Vidura said. "Not that that's any excuse, but... to refuse to do as he said would have been.... risky."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"There were rumours," Vidura said. "All this was before I was born, but my mother being a dasi at one time was privy to most of them..."

"What rumours?" She asked, still frowning. It did not surprise her that Bheeshma's had been the plan to blackmail her. She'd seen the calculation in his eyes, and knew him to be a dangerous adversary. He'd proved it when he'd arranged Pandu's marriage to Madri, when he'd arranged Pandu to go on the Dig Vijaya, and again when he'd forced Pandu to abdicate.

"It was said, Bheeshma couldn't become Maharaja of Hastinapura because he had to swear an oath to relinquish the throne for him and his descendants. It was rumoured to be a pre-condition for his father's marriage to Satyavati, the Queen mother. It was also rumoured that Bheeshma chose to remain celibate rather than risk having his children dishonour his oath."

Kunti gasped. "He must have been a child at the time. How could his father have forced him to take such an oath?"

"It was said Maharaja Santanu did not force him, and he took the oath on his own, for his father's happiness. But I guess he's only human, and in later years, it must have rankled. Anyway, Bheeshma had two half-brothers. Chitrangada who was elder was installed as Maharaja, and met his demise at the hands of a Gandharva soon after." Vidura paused. "At the time, there were mutterings about his death."

"But he died in battle, didn't he?" She was confused.

"Yes, but where was the Senapati while the Maharaja was doing battle? Where was the invincible warrior, the great Bheeshma?"

"That's just conjecture," she said automatically, even while her mind accepted and admired the strategy of the Senapati.

"Maybe. Then Vichitravirya was made Maharaja though he was still a boy. Rumours abounded about the new Maharaja's excesses, but why did his elder brother never attempt to check him?"

"Whatever that might be, the Maharaja died of Rajayakshma," Kunti said, dismissively. It was Ambalika, her mother-in-law who'd told her the story. Of how her husband had died of that dreaded disease. Of how she and her sister had to go through Niyoga to beget children for the dynasty.

"Did he?" Vidura asked. "I'm no Vaidya, but even I know that Rajayakshma is a lingering illness; it wastes away a man. Vichitravirya died suddenly, vomiting blood, and Bheeshma was the first at his side, and he said Rajayakshma and the court Vaidya nodded."

Kunti shivered. "All this is... it's just rumours...."

"Yes," Vidura said. "Worse, the palace servants' rumours.... but.... a lot of dasas and dasis who'd spread the rumours disappeared with their families.... some lost their tongues.... the rumours stopped after that.... There were also rumours about the Rajakumari Amba."

"What about her?"

"When she refused to marry Vichitravirya because her heart was given to another man, and the man rejected her, Bheeshma married her."

Kunti looked at him in surprise. "So, he didn't remain celibate, after all."

"It was rumoured that Amba was ambitious, that she had no intention of accepting her husband's oath, especially considering he made it while still a child, and that Bheeshma had her killed."

"His own wife?" she was shocked.

"These are rumours, but the fact remains that Rajakumari Amba disappeared off the face of the earth while she was pregnant. There was a convenient fire in Bheeshma's apartments, and though no bodies were found, the news was spread that Amba had died in the fire."

"But if no bodies were found..."

"Rumours have it that Bheeshma drowned her, and that her body was lost in the currents of the Ganga. To cover up, he started the fire. Rumours, yes, but no rumour ever started without a grain of truth. As I said, it's not- wise to cross the will of Bheeshma. I know I wronged you, but there's nothing either of us can do about the situation now."

"I think you enjoyed it," she said relentlessly.

"Perhaps I did," he said. "Perhaps I'd still enjoy watching you squirm. But... there's no purpose in any of it now... I've lost, and so have you."

"I haven't lost yet." She said. "And I won't if you'll help me."

"Help you with what? There's nothing you can do now!"

"What if there is?" Kunti asked, her face determined. It was his turn to frown and to look confused.

"How?" He asked. "And even if there is, I can't promise to help."

"Since my husband cannot be Maharaja of Hastinapura," Kunti said, "I'm determined my son would be." She fixed him with a challenging and penetrating glance. "And you're going to help me do it."
Sixteen

There was a nip in the air that day. The corridor through which Maharaja Dhritarashtra was led to his chambers by Vidura, was open on one side. It was partly a balcony that ran through the outer perimeter of the palace, before it made a right turn to enter the palace. The Maharaja and the Pradhanamantrin were conversing in undertones so that the guards would not be able to hear.

"Is all this really necessary?" Dhritarashtra muttered. "What's going to happen if they hear us?"

"They're all uncle's men," Vidura replied, keeping his head slightly lowered, the Maharaja's hand on his shoulder. "Personally, I wouldn't trust them not to report any of our conversations to him."

"And what is so secret about our conversations that it shouldn't reach uncle's ears?" At Vidura's behest, Dhritarashtra too had lowered his head.

"The topic of our conversation is irrelevant," Vidura said. "There's no reason why the conversation between the Maharaja and the Pradhanamantrin should be reported to the Senapati."

"You could have a point," Dhritarashtra conceded. "Or you could just be paranoid. We don't even know uncle is spying on us."

"Not through spies," Vidura murmured, "They're still in my hands. But definitely through his soldiers. And in some ways, they're just as effective as spies since they're everywhere in this palace."

"So, we speak in whispers, and keep our heads lowered? Why are we keeping our heads lowered anyway?"

"All my spies are adept at reading lips," Vidura's tone was bland. "I can't take a chance that at least some of your guards might not be well versed in the art."

"I still think you're being paranoid."

"And I think you're underestimating the efficiency of the spy networks that we have,"

"How come you have spy networks, and uncle too? Shouldn't I be the one having spy networks? I'm the Maharaja after all,"

"That would be logical, but not very practical. The spies I control are all on behalf of the Maharaja, and some of the news they bring are not important enough to warrant your attention. It's my job to separate the wheat from the chaff. Otherwise, all your time could be taken up with unnecessary matters."

"But the same doesn't apply for the spies uncle maintain?"

"He doesn't have spies, he has soldiers who report to him. You can't expect them to report to you, or for uncle to admit he's spying on you."

"What if you're wrong? What if he's not spying on me?"

"He spied on Pandu, who was his favourite. Why shouldn't he spy on you?"

"How do you know he spied on Pandu?"

"How else did he know of Kindama's death before any messenger arrived?"

Dhritarashtra frowned. "You think he forced Pandu to abdicate, don't you?"

"I know he forced Pandu to abdicate," Vidura replied.

"I know you don't like Pandu, but aren't you being unjust?"

"Unjust? How?"

"By imputing Pandu couldn't do the right thing."

"So you think that abdication was the right thing to do."

"Of course! He killed a sage. What else was there to do?"

"In spite of what the sage was doing at the time Pandu killed him?"

"Does that make any difference? If Kindama did wrong, that's between him and his conscience. Pandu did not have the right to judge him."

"Pandu was Maharaja."

"And Kindama was a sage and therefore beyond his authority."

"I can't agree with that."

"All the Maharajas who have ever messed with sages have come off worse. Pandu should've remembered that," Dhritarashtra sounded defensive.

"So, it's not about whether Pandu had the authority, or whether he was right, but that Pandu should've realized there are consequences and so shouldn't have done it."

Dhritarashtra frowned. "I know you're clever. You don't have to twist my words and argue with me to prove it. I just feel... that Pandu did wrong in killing Kindama."

"Naturally," Vidura said drily. "Since that helped you become Maharaja."

"You hold me in contempt, don't you?" Dhritarashtra asked after a moment.

"Actually, I don't," Vidura said contemplatively. "Pandu I held in contempt, but not you. And even if I did, It's not for the reasons you think."

"You mean, my blindness doesn't bother you."

"I don't see why it should."

"It seems to bother everyone else,"

"We've reached your chambers."

Vidura stepped away from the Maharaja as the guards opened the doors to the room, and led the Maharaja inside. They withdrew, as the Maharaja's own servants and attendants took over.

Dhritarashtra was stripped, and was led to a table where he was oiled, massaged, and later led to a pool to be washed. Once he was dressed, he was led to the Anthahpurah to the Maharani's chambers where his wife was waiting for him.

"You seem tense," Gandhari said, as she placed her hand on her husband's arm. Her maids and the Maharaja's servants had all withdrawn from the room, leaving them alone. "What happened?"

"Vidura," Dhritarashtra sighed, as he groped his way to the bed, and sat down on it. "I don't know if he's mocking me or not."

"That is all?"

"He says uncle's guards are spying on us."

Gandhari was silent, though her hand tightened on her husband's arm. "I hope not," she said now, worried. "If so, it means that uncle doesn't trust you."

"I think I should have my own spies," Dhritarashtra said, frowning. "I don't like it that Vidura gets to pick and choose what news from the spies comes to me. I need my own spies to spy on him and uncle."

Gandhari sighed. "I think you should leave them to do their jobs. All this intrigue... you aren't suited for that."

Dhritarashtra deflated. "I know. It was just a thought."

"If it's important to you, I shall send word to my brother."

"Sakuni?"

"Yes. He has been handling everything for my father for so many years. He can advise you."

"But he'll be needed in Gandhara, won't he?"

"A short visit won't do any harm. And if he feels you should have spies of your own, he'll train them too."

"Neither Vidura nor uncle likes Sakuni," Dhritarashtra sounded thoughtful.

Gandhari stiffened. "He's my brother. And what does it matter what they feel? Aren't you the Maharaja?"

"So I am. Let's invite Sakuni,"

Gandhari smiled.
Seventeen

The streets were decorated with flowers and garlands hung at every corner. The whole city wore a festive atmosphere. Hastinapura was decked out like a new bride. There were celebrations at the palace too. Designs of flowers and coloured powders added to the decorations.

"What's the celebrations for?" Vasushena asked Radha as he helped her fill the earthen lamps with oil.

"The Maharani is pregnant," Radha replied, her gaze lingering fondly on her eldest son. Vasushena was eight, though he appeared older since he was taller and larger than boys his age. Looking at him, it was difficult to believe that he'd been so sickly once that his parents had despaired for his life daily.

"I see," Vasushena said, though it was evident he did not. He wasn't old enough yet to understand why the Maharani having a child was a cause for celebration. It was doubtful whether any of the citizens of Hastinapura understood why so great a celebration was made, though most of the women thought they understood. The Maharaja and the Maharani had been married for years. No wonder everyone was excited about the Maharani's pregnancy!

Vasushena helped his mother set out the lamps. Next, he helped her hang the flower garlands at the door, and on the windows. Their house had been cleaned for the celebrations. The Maharaja and the Pradhanamantrin accompanied by the Maharani's brother would be driving through the city, to distribute clothes and rice, though everyone knew that most of it would go to the Brahmanas. But the others would also get something, and since the day was a holiday, and food was being served free to all at the palace, everyone was happy for the royal couple.

Atiratha and Sangramajith came in to the house, bringing more flowers. Vasushena caught his brother's eye, and the young child nodded surreptitiously.

"May we go to play, now?" Vasushena asked plaintively.

Radha laughed. "Of course. Your father will help me now."

She hugged her sons and watched them scamper away.

"I hope they won't get into any trouble." Atiratha said, as he kept the basket of flowers in the courtyard. Radha was already drawing designs on the soil for the flower arrangements.

"Why should they?" Radha asked. "They'll be with all the other children. They'll be fine."

Atiratha did not think he needed to cause any worry in his wife by informing her that Vasushena had started going into the forest all by himself. He had heard from Madana the previous day, who heard his son Bhadra talking about it with Asmita. According to Madana, the boys were speculating on what Vasushena was doing in the forest. Atiratha hoped none of the other boys would follow his son into the forest. He had meant to talk to Vasushena too, but the day had been just too busy. Of course, it was possible that Vasushena was not frequenting the place, but had simply gone there once out of curiosity. It was natural after all. The forest jutted out to the river bank, and boys would be curious about the tales they've heard.

In the meanwhile, Vasushena and Sangramajith had both reached the playground. None of the girls were there today, but most of the boys were. Sangrama moved towards the children near his age while Vasu gravitated to the group of his peers. Veera grinned at him.

"Ready for some lessons?" He asked.

"Always," Vasu grinned back.

"You're going to teach him how to wrestle?" Asmita demanded. "He'll become even more insufferable!"

"Much as I hate to agree with Asmita on anything, I've to say he's right," Bhadra said.

"So unfortunate then that Veera doesn't share your views," Vasu laughed.

"I agree with the insufferability part," Veera winked. "But that doesn't mean you won't make a good wrestler. And who knows, getting thrashed every now and then might teach you some humility."

Vasu snorted. "Look who's talking."

They walked to one corner of the playground, Bhadra and Asmita following them.

"The first thing you need, is to learn the stance. Just watch me."

Veera stood with his feet slightly apart and then bent his knees slightly, arching his back, and then brought his hands in front of his body.

"Did you get that?"

"Let me try," Vasu said, copying the stance. Legs slightly apart, bending his knees and arching his back, and bringing his hands to the front.

"Good," Veera said. "Stand there for a moment. Now, you have to understand that your opponent is always trying to knock you off balance, and so you have to make it difficult for him. You have to be moving, but your weight is to be distributed evenly between both feet, so you won't be caught off balance. Keeping your legs further apart will help, but you need to be mobile too, so be on the balls of your feet."

"This is boring," Asmita complained. "When are you going to teach him how to wrestle?"

"I'm teaching him how to wrestle," Veera said. "But if he doesn't learn how to stand, move, and keep on his feet, he won't be able to wrestle. It's not just about punching and catching."

"Doesn't make it any less boring," Bhadra muttered as he sauntered off. Asmita followed him, waving to Vasu.

"We'll just practice the stance today," Veera said, ignoring the two. He lowered his voice. "Afterwards we can go to the forest, and you can show me your archery."

Vasushena smiled. "I will. I'm not too good at it yet. But my arrows are missing by a foot instead of a mile, so there's some improvement."

Veera chuckled. "Keep practicing those stances. And try to move a bit. Sometimes wrestlers forget to move quickly. And sometimes both feet doesn't move the same way. That gives your opponent a chance to fell you."

Vasu nodded, as he moved on the balls of his feet, as Veera showed him. Veera showed how to shift his stance while moving, and Vasu moved the same. Soon, both boys were moving the same way, almost like a dance.

"Are you two going to be doing this all day?" Bhadra griped as he came over again to have a look.

"Yes," Veera replied, not breaking the movement. Both of them moved fluidly, easily, and the initial stiffness of Vasu's movements had now gone, and he was smiling.

"It's still boring," Bhadra shook his head as he walked away again to where some of the others were playing ball.

"Can we go now?" Veera asked softly. "None of them are looking this way."

"Yes," Vasu nodded. "We'll just slip away."

None of the others noticed the two boys slipping away into the woods.
Eighteen

The forest was unfriendly, and wild, and to Kunti, used as she was to a life in a palace, this place seemed like an enemy. An enemy that sought not just to make life difficult, but which sought to end that very life. Time spent in the forest had not dimmed her dislike of it nor made her reconciled to her lot. But she knew her lot was better than that of many others. They still had the dasas and dasis to cater to their daily needs, they still had chariots and charioteers to take them to another part of the forest, the guard that accompanied them were good enough for protection and for hunting, and therefore, they never had to worry about finding food.

But even with all that, she was still nothing but the wife of an exiled Maharaja. And the guards, the sutas, the dasas, were all here out of Dhritarashtra's mercy. Gandhari, who had ever envied her, was now the Maharani, and she, the rightful Maharani was reduced to a life of penury, all because of an ill-judged action of her husband, and the false morality of Bheeshma. She still had no clue as to how to salvage the situation. Her cheeks burned as she thought of how Vidura had laughed at her when she'd declared her intention to have her son as the Maharaja of Hastinapura.

"And how do you propose to have a son when you've an impotent husband?" He'd mocked. "Not to speak of the fact that your husband no longer have any rights, having abdicated the throne."

She'd had no answers then, and even less now.

"Kunti," Pandu's voice broke into her thoughts. She looked at him in question. He was thinner, but still looked regal. Even his unnaturally pale complexion gave him an ethereal appearance. Only a fool would take him to be a forest dweller. He looked every inch a Maharaja, and her heart pained to see him in hermit's attire.

"So deep in thought?" His tone was light and teasing as he sat next to her. The tree under which they sat was large and shady, and the prominent and thick roots were wide enough to sit, though hard. But they both preferred it to the mossy ground. Neither of them were used to sitting on the ground.

"Not so deep," she parried, just as lightly, though her gaze on him was intent enough to know he had some purpose in coming to her now. He wasn't here for a chat. He was too tense for that.

"I've a favour to ask you?"

Her eyes went wide with surprise. "A favour?"

He fidgeted, avoiding her eyes for a moment before squaring his shoulders and looking at her with determination. "Kunti, you know that a man without sons is cursed. The gates of heaven are forever barred to such a one. You also know that Niyoga is an acceptable practice for a Kshatriya woman when her husband is dead or unable to give her offspring."

She lifted her hand to stop him. The gesture was imperious, and it shocked him into silence.

"I'm your wife!" She hissed, her voice throbbing with anger. "And you're not yet dead. How dare you ask me to sleep with another man!"

His shoulders slumped. "Kunti... I'm... I can't give you children."

"I know. Haven't I known from the start? Why do you think it matters to me now?"

She was furious. True, she wanted a son to regain her lost status, but not like this. A part of her was hoping her husband would somehow become a real man. But to sleep with another man even for the purpose of having a child was abhorrent. But a part of her was urging her to accede, to give in. After all, a son could be her salvation.

"I received a message from Vidura," Pandu said heavily. "Sister Gandhari is pregnant."

Kunti wanted to scream. It was so unfair! First Gandhari stole her position as Maharani, and now her son would be the future Maharaja! But she remained obstinately silent. Pandu gazed at her and them said, his voice steady, "Shall I ask Madri?"

Kunti cringed. If Madri had a son, she would be elevated above her. She, Kunti, would forever be relegated to the background. It was inconceivable.

"I'll do it," she said, her voice hard. "But if Gandhari is already pregnant, it will not do any good. It's already too late."

Pandu looked surprised, "Too late for what?"

"If our child is younger, he can't be the next Maharaja."

"He can't be that in any case," Pandu said. "Why would you even think that? That isn't why I want a child."

"Still, it won't be a bad thing, would it?"

"It can't happen in any case."

"I've faith in Vidura," Kunti said, though she could not be certain. "He'll contrive something."

"And why should he do that for us? He hates us."

"He hates you," Kunti corrected him.

"You're right," Pandu said. "It's me he hates. You, he desires. Which is why I've decided he'll father our son. That'll give him an incentive to help us. Also, you know what everyone says about him. He has a reputation for following Dharma. So, no one will question his action, and the child will be accepted as mine."

Kunti could only marvel at the cold-bloodedness and also the acumen of her husband. But then, he was a Kuru, so perhaps it was not so surprising after all. But Vidura... she hated him. How could she allow him to touch her? The very thought of being with him revolted her.

She took a deep breath. "Tell him to be here in a fortnight for my fertile period. But I've a condition. No one shall ever know who sired this child. Tell them the Devas did, if you will. But no one shall ever learn the truth!"

"The child will have to know someday," Pandu said. "But no one else will. I promise. Though the secrecy does defeat the purpose of why I wanted him to father our child."

"I don't care for your purpose," she snapped. "If no one knows, they'll accept the child as yours in any case."

"All right," he said. "It shall be as you wish."

"Send word to him. Make sure no one knows." she said again.

He dipped his head in acquiescence as he rose, a smile of triumph hovering over his lips. She suppressed the rage which choked her at that sight. All this humiliation was going to be worth it. Once she had a son, it would all be worth it.
Nineteen

The arrow buried itself into the target painted on to the tree. The arrow was a crude one, just a piece of wood sharpened till it looked more like a stake than an arrow. If not for the fletching of feathers at the end, no one would have taken it for an arrow. The target was equally crude, the painted image of a man's head and torso on a large and thick tree trunk done by someone who was none too skilled at painting. The arrow was buried where the man's neck was, and the two boys whooped in joy.

"Did you see that?" Vasushena was laughing. He looked the same, only slightly taller. A few months had passed and the trees in the forest had begun to shed leaves.

"That's the first time you've hit the neck accurately!" Veera was grinning broadly, as pleased as if he himself had made the shot. Both boys were carrying bows, which were equally crude.

"You try now," Vasushena said.

Veera nocked an arrow, took aim and released. The arrow buried itself somewhere to the left of where the man's body was, in the same tree. Veera grimaced.

"Don't worry. Remember how all my arrows used to go wide earlier? You're improving a lot. I've been at this longer than you. That's why I do better."

"You know it's more than that. You have a natural aptitude for this. I'm interested in learning, but it doesn't matter to me if I make that shot as accurately. In a real battle, it would have felled a man anyway, because some soldier might have been there where my arrow is."

Vasushena nodded. "That's true I suppose, but there's power in sending that arrow where we want, isn't there?"

"Maybe," Veera shrugged as he went to retrieve the arrows. A clear sap was oozing out of the tree where the arrows had pierced its bark. "Look at that. Do you think the tree feels pain?"

"It's a tree," Vasushena rolled his eyes.

"Then why is it crying?"

"It's not crying. That's just the sap. Don't you remember anything the guru taught us?"

"Who cares for all that anyway? It's not as if we're Rajakumaras. I don't even know why that man bothers to teach us, and why our fathers let him. There's something odd about him."

"I think our fathers just want us to stay out of trouble, especially trouble with the soldiers. They've been on edge since the Maharani miscarried."

"And now, she's pregnant again, isn't she? Within months too. One would think the Maharaja would've been more patient."

"They're Kshatriyas," Vasushena said dismissively. "They have no patience or morals. Everyone knows that."

"And yet, you want to be an archer, like them."

"Not like them," Vasushena said confidently. "I'll be better than them."

The boys stood side by side, lifted their bows, nocked arrows and took aim again. They released the arrows simultaneously. Vasushena's arrow buried itself in the exact same spot as before, while Veera's struck somewhere closer to the painted man's heart.

"Personally I don't see the advantage in an arrow. For people who fight from chariots, it's good, I suppose. But we both know how likely we're to be rathis. We'd be lucky to make the infantry. Wouldn't a sword and a shield be more useful?" Veera asked.

"The arrow has more power," Vasushena said. "It doesn't matter if I become a rathi or not. It only matters that I do well with the bow, and one day I'll prove to the world that I'm the best archer!"

"You're certainly becoming the best in our street," Veera smiled. "And you're becoming a good wrestler too."

"I've a good teacher," Vasushena smiled as he went to get the arrows. Veera's arrow came out easily, but his arrow was buried deep, and it broke off as he tugged it with force. "That's another one gone!"

"Never mind. We can make more."

"Yes. My knife needs whetting. Do you have a whetstone?"

"At home," Veera said. "It's my father's. What do I need a whetstone for?"

Vasushena gripped his arm suddenly. "Did you hear that?"

There was the sound of twigs breaking, and the boys glanced at each other. Veera took the knife that Vasushena handed to him, even as Vasushena nocked an arrow and raised his bow. There was movement in the bushes and then, they both gasped as Samgramajith came into the clearing, his eyes wide and his arms and legs full of scratches.

"What are you doing here?" There was annoyance in Vasushena's voice as he hurried to his brother, dropping his bow on the ground and examining the boy for any injuries. "How are you going to explain those scratches to mother?"

"I'll tell her I fell. What are you doing here?"

"Playing with Veera," Vasushena said, even as Veera tried to look nonchalant. "Did you follow me?"

Samgrama nodded. "I want to play with you too."

"You shouldn't follow me," Vasushena said, straightening. "It's dangerous."

"But you're here."

"I can take care of myself."

"You can take care of me too. But I want to play with you. The others are no fun to be with. They wouldn't play with me."

"Let's go back home," Vasushena said, taking his brother's hand and leading him away while Veera followed close behind. He gave Vasushena a questioning glance as he passed the bow and Vasushena shook his head.

"Perhaps, I could teach you wrestling too," Veera told Samgrama at which the smaller boy grimaced. "I don't like to fight."

"No wonder the others wouldn't play with you," Vasushena muttered under his breath. Aloud he said. "You can't just follow me around all the time. I can't always play with you."

"Then I'll tell mother you went into the forest."

"And I'll tell her you followed me even though I asked you to stay with your friends."

"I won't tell anyone," Samgrama said in a small voice, "And you don't have to play with me. But I don't like the others. I'll just sit quietly and watch you two. I won't say a word."

"We'll see," Vasushena said resignedly as he hoisted Sangrama on to his shoulder. "Now, not a word to father or mother."

"I promise."

Veera shook his head, chuckling as he followed them.
Twenty

The moon was a pale crescent, casting little in the way of light into the hut. It stood apart from the others, almost at the edge of the clearing, and the windows had shades unlike the other huts. A beam of the moonlight still found its way into the hut, but not enough to illuminate the dark. But it made visible the outline of something in the bed. Two bodies, twined, moving in a rhythm older than time.

The woman nearly cried out, but the man's mouth was on hers, swallowing her cry, and his own, as he climaxed, shuddering. He collapsed on top of her, and she lay still, not moving. Then she pushed him, and he moved, rolling to a side, and lay next to her. She tried to get up, but he stopped her.

"Stay a while," his voice was hoarse, and low, and she stilled for a moment, and lay back. "You'll need to leave before anyone sees you," she said. Her voice was low, steady and calm.

"There's some time left before that," he said. "You'll have some cleaning to do here."

"The dasis will do it." she said dismissively.

"The dasis," he said slowly. "I see," he paused, and then asked, almost as if it was wrung out of him. "Did you enjoy it?"

"No," she said. "It was my duty. That was all."

"You're a hard woman," he said. "But no matter how much you may deny it, I felt your body's response."

"I don't deny my body responded," she replied, her voice still calm. "But that doesn't mean I enjoyed it."

He rose, gathering his clothes in the darkness, cleaning himself with a piece of cloth, probably hers. "I better leave," he said.

"Does it offend you?" she asked. "That I refuse to pretend?"

He shook his head, then seemed to remember that they were in the dark. "No," he said. "I prefer honesty, especially from you. But... yes, it does offend me at some level that you could not put your animosity for me aside, even now. We may have to do this again, if-"

She drew a sharp breath, and he stopped. "Perhaps, you're hoping for that," there was a slight tremor in her voice. If he felt any gratification, he did not show it. He walked up to the bed, and sat down, carefully avoiding the wetness on it.

"Kunti," he said. "Why did you agree to this if it's so abhorrent to you?"

"Because I need a son," she answered. "And because you are my husband's brother, and the rule of Niyoga-"

"The rule of Niyoga," he said flatly. "I see. How did you convince my brother to do it? To agree to this?"

"I didn't need to." she said wearily. "It was his idea." her tone made it very clear that had it been her idea, he would not have been her choice.

"So, you're saying that Pandu decided that I should be the one to impregnate his wife?"

"Why do you find that so hard to believe?"

"Pandu and I don't exactly see eye to eye in case you haven't noticed." He paused. "Besides, the Maharani Gandhari is already pregnant. Even if you conceive a son, he will not be Maharaja."

"I'm sure you'll find a way," she said. "It isn't just my son, you know. It's our son."

He rose and said. "So it is. I better be getting back to Hastinapura. If tonight hasn't worked, don't hesitate to send word. Because I thoroughly enjoyed tonight."

He didn't wait to hear her response, as he stepped out through the door, closing it behind him. He stood there for a moment, breathing in the night air, cold and crisp and heady with the scent of the forest. He looked at the hut where Pandu would no doubt be waiting. He shrugged. Let his wife go to him. He had to get to Hastinapura before the Maharaja or grand uncle started asking awkward questions. He walked to where his horse was tethered, alongside the cattle. It stood there, not asleep, just tossing its head irritatedly as if it wasn't happy in the company it found itself in.

He mounted the horse, and rode slowly. It was very dark, and even a full moon would not have provided any but the faintest of lights. Tonight, it was like moving in the dark, and he hoped his horse had better night vision than him. He knew that in general horses were able to see better in the dark than humans, but with his luck, he could be having the only horse in the land with night-blindness. He let the horse negotiate the terrain and the dark, and once they were out of the forest, visibility was marginally better, and he directed the horse towards the city. The road to the city was not in very good condition, and he had to be careful till they reached the outskirts of the city where the roads were in better repair. He made a mental note to have the roads repaired. It might not be necessary for him to make such a trip again, but one never knew.

The road forked at one point and he took the overgrown path that led right to the river, next to the wall of the palace. There was a small gate there which was locked. He dismounted, took a key from a pouch on his waist and opened the lock, and led his horse inside. He locked the gate again, and led his horse to the royal stables which was very near to the wall. He slipped into the palace through another locked door and made his way to his room, taking a route through the many corridors which avoided any detection.

The morning sun falling on his face woke him the next morning. He rose, wondering if the night before had been a dream, but the clothes that he had removed last night was still where he left it. The sun was still in the eastern horizon when there was a knock on his door, and a herald entered.

"The Maharaja has requested your presence in his audience chamber, Pradhanamantrin Vidura,"

Vidura nodded and followed the herald. The night before might have been a dream as the normal every day life started again with its daily rote of meaningless chores.
Twenty One

Maharani Gandhari stood before the idol of Shiva, palms joined. Though only a few months pregnant, her belly was already large and she was having difficulty moving around. She needed assistance in doing the most basic tasks. The Maharaja and the Queen mothers as well as the patriarch Bheeshma were worried about her health, but the Maharani remained serene. She had faith. And she remembered the dream she had the night before she learned she was pregnant. The Lord had come to her in the dream, and had blessed her with a hundred sons. She smiled to herself at that. She did not need a hundred. One was all she required. And didn't the sastras say that one son endowed with all good qualities was equivalent to a hundred?

She bowed her head in prayer, a prayer of gratitude and supplication, both. Bheeshma had decreed that her husband wed again, since a Maharaja needed more than one wife. Dhritarashtra had tried to object, but had been overruled. Gandhari was now here in front of the Lord to pray that she give birth to a son, so that her position would remain supreme. Once the Maharaja wed again, that position was all she had.

"Maharani," the maid who was standing beside her brought her out of her reverie. "It's time to go,"

"Not without the prasada of the Lord, I hope," a mellifluous voice spoke. It was the new priest, who had suddenly and inexplicably replaced the old one. He was eager to please, too eager, thought the Maharani, even as she accepted the offering with a respectful smile. The old priest was a saintly man, this one was too young to contain his roving eye. His gaze made her maids uncomfortable, and had it not been for her position and her condition, Gandhari had no doubt that eye would have been directed at her too. It was times like these she felt grateful for the blindfold which shut out her sight.

Having partaken of the prasada, she turned to go, when she felt a twinge from her belly. She ignored it and took a step forward. There was another twinge, sharper and so painful she stood still and gasped. Her face had gone pale, though she was unaware of it, and her body was beginning to sweat. She put a sweaty palm on her stomach and was aware of a warm wetness creeping down her thighs.

The baby! She thought, desperately. Her tongue seemed to have cleaved to her mouth and she could not utter a word and there was a buzzing in her ears that blocked out all sound. She was unaware of the maid's frenzied shouts and of the guards that helped her into the palanquin. Blood was dripping down her thighs, and her garments were soaked.

"The Vaidya!" said her chief maid urgently. "We've to take her to the Vaidya immediately."

The face of the chief of the guards was grim as he nodded. If anything were to happen to the Maharani or to the royal heir, their life was forfeit. A life for a life. That was how it was with the royalty, no matter the life to be taken was the sole support of his family.

"Bring her here," a calm voice spoke. It was a sage, one whom the guard recognized.

"Sage Vyasa!" he said. "She's bleeding!"

"I can see that. Bring her over here," the sage led them to a small hut within the temple grounds. They transferred the Maharani on to a bed. The guard noticed that the new priest stood there, looking tense and as coiled as a spring, even as he was grinding some herbs with a pungent smell. A few jars of an odd design stood in the room. They had the shape of cradles, but they were jars, and had tubes protruding from the lid.

"Suka," Vyasa addressed the priest. "Bring the medicine." he turned to the guard, "Leave the maids here. Send one of your men to send word to the Maharaja and to Bheeshma. You and the rest of your men to stand guard outside. No man is to set foot inside till I say so, not even the Maharaja."

The guard swallowed, but nodded. He went outside, closing the door behind him, and gave orders to one of his men to inform the Maharaja and the Senapati of what had transpired. Then he arranged his men in two loose concentric circles around the hut. Not even a fly would get past.

Soon, there was the sound of conches and heralds were announcing the arrival of the Maharaja and the Senapati.

"What happened?" the Maharaja sounded angry, anxious and fearful all at the same time. Bheeshma looked calm, though the guard noticed that he kept his body still and his fists clenched. He was just as worried, but had more self-control than his nephew. The Pradhanamantrin Vidura was also there, looking bored and disinterested. But then, his life was not in the line here, and it was not his wife in there. The Sthapathi was also there, sweating profusely as he directed his people to go inside with the pillows and mattresses and what-not.

"I'm sorry," the guard stopped the sthapathi. "The sage has said no one is to enter till he said so. Your people will have to wait outside."

"I want to see my wife!" The Maharaja exclaimed angrily.

"I'm sorry, Rajan." the guard said stoutly. "You may execute me, but I think the Maharani's life and that of the royal heir is more important than your anxiety."

"He has a point," It was Sakuni, the prince of Gandhara and the Maharani's brother. The guard had not noticed him since he stood behind Bheeshma and stepped forward only now. "What is your name?"

"Kanika," he replied.

Sakuni nodded, placed a hand on the shoulder of his anxious brother-in-law and said, "Send us word when the sage wills it. Sthapathi, I saw a pathikavasa just outside the temple grounds. Please requisition it for the use of the Maharaja and his entourage. Perhaps the Pradhanamantrin would need to go with, to pull rank."

Vidura smiled, showing all his teeth. "As the Yuvaraja of Gandhara wills. The will of guests is always the command of the royals of Hastinapura."

The Pradhanamantrin and the Sthapathi went outside, and the Maharaja and the others followed. The guard caught the tail end of Sakuni's words to Dhritarashtra. "...ought to be made a minister at the least."

He wondered if they were talking about demoting the Pradhanamantrin.
Twenty Two

Vidura was walking down the corridors, frowning. The events of the previous week still fresh in his mind. Maharani Gandhari was still in the little hut with the sage Vyasa and his son, and none save her most trusted handmaids had so far been permitted entry. Neither the Maharaja nor the Queen mothers had been allowed to even see the Maharani. The handmaids were more scared of the sage's curse than the Maharaja's punishment and hence no one knew what was going on with the Maharani. Even the most efficient spies of Vidura were unable to get past the Maharani's guard. To Bheeshma's chagrin, the Senapati's men were also not able to get past their brothers-in-arms. Kanika kept his men in line and followed the sage's instructions, even ignoring or disobeying the Maharaja, the Senapati and the Pradhanamantrin in the process.

Vidura wondered what he should do with Kanika once this whole debacle was over. Bheeshma was for transferring the man to the farthest provinces of the empire, but Vidura was not in favour of such crude methods. Uncle was losing his touch in his old age. The man should be felicitated and kept in Hastinapura, and a small accident could be arranged, so that none would know what happened, but there would be rumours enough to keep the others in line.

He entered his apartments so lost in thought that he did not realize for a moment that he was not alone. Suka stood in his room, tall and stern looking, quite unlike the priest persona he had sported.

"Sage Suka," Vidura inclined his head, even as he wondered how the man had managed to enter his apartments.

"The guards of Hastinapura are not as efficient as their reputation says," Suka answered the question in Vidura's mind, adding. "Your Kingdom's security needs a lot of improvement, brother."

Vidura flinched, but there was no reply he could give. The sage was his brother, and he'd already proved how bad the security of the palace was. "Perhaps I could hire you. You're certainly more efficient than all the rest of my men." He said.

"I'm not for hire, brother. You seem to forget that I'm a sage."

"Are you insulted? You played spy for your father," Vidura just could not bring himself to say our father, "but you balk at doing the same for me. I wonder why. Perhaps being a sage means you have to be your father's lapdog."

Suka smiled. "Why this vicious a reaction, I wonder. Could it be because father and I've thrown a spoke in your wheel?"

Vidura stilled in the act of pouring himself a goblet of wine. "What do you mean?" His voice was steady, curious, and he was grateful that the sage could not see his face.

"I think you know what I mean," Suka said calmly. "Father doesn't know yet who is behind what happened to the Maharani."

"It was you," Vidura turned to face him. "The priest role, the sage's presence here- it was all you."

Suka inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I wanted you to know. Father has some affection for you, and some illusions regarding you. I share neither, but I wouldn't do anything to disabuse him of his. I also would try my best to thwart your- less than admirable plots."

"Why should you care?" Vidura grated out. "Why do you even bother?"

"By law, he may be the son of a Maharaja, but in fact the Maharaja Dhritarashtra is also my brother. Let us just say that I feel father owes him something."

"So it's just your sense of justice."

"Among other things."

"You mean you're envious of your father's affections for me."

"Even so, there would be no need for me to be here today, had you been- a good man, shall we say?"

"It's none of your business what I am! And make no mistake, brother, I tolerate no interference. This is the last time."

"Threats? How crude! And here I thought you were intelligent."

Vidura glared at the sage, as he turned around and exited the room through the balcony, which was presumably his point of entry too, though Vidura could not see how. There were no trees near the balcony, no vines, no pillars, there was nothing that would enable someone to climb up. And yet, Suka had managed it. But he had bigger problems to worry about. Suka thought himself intelligent, but by revealing himself, he'd proved himself more of a fool. Vidura knew how to cover his tracks, and he'd already taken steps. The cook and the handmaid who had been attending to Gandhari's needs had both disappeared mysteriously two days ago, but no one had bothered to look for them because everyone had eyes only for what was happening to the Maharani. The man who had concocted the special potion that was being added to the Maharani's food for the past few weeks had also disappeared. It helped that other than Vidura, almost no one knew of his existence. The go between who lived in the city was the only loose end and Vidura had made arrangements for the man to disappear as well. And as for the assassins who carried out the little clean up, well, Vidura was the Pradhanamantrin, and the Maharaja was too busy to attend to little things like the capture and execution of a few assassins. With some planning, the whole thing could be foisted on to them, and to some Kingdom with a grudge against the Kurus. Wars had been fought over lesser matters, after all.

Sakuni was also a problem. The prince of Gandhara appeared hedonistic and lackadaisical, but he was anything but. He might throw a wrench in Vidura's plans if he suspected anything. Vidura was not concerned about Suka's knowledge. The man had no proof, nor the resources to obtain any, but Sakuni was a different matter altogether. He also had the Maharaja's ear and enjoyed his confidence. The only relief was that he might not make Hastinapura his permanent residence since he had duties in his own land, though Vidura knew he could not count on it. Sakuni was devoted to his sister, and he just might decide to stay in Hastinapura till he could be certain of her welfare. It was not an ideal situation, but Vidura knew he would need to play his hand carefully now. It would not do if Sakuni were to suspect anything. And he knew that Dhritarashtra's fraternal feelings for him were weaker than Pandu's. It amused him that in spite of liking Dhritarashtra better than Pandu, he was now allied with Pandu. And it was admirable that Pandu managed it. His body still remembered the feel of Kunti in his arms, and he knew with a startling clarity that his obsession with her had already made his choices for him.
Twenty Three

Vyasa sat in the lotus pose, his eyes closed. Normally, he would have been able to shut out the world as he immersed himself in meditation, but today he found himself unable to do so. Thoughts kept coming, tumbling one over the other, refusing to recede to the background. Usually, he was able to ignore them while he focussed inward. All thoughts receded to the back of his mind, while his mind remained calm and still, like a river whose surface remained unmarked by the smallest ripple even though currents swelled in the depths. But today, the river of his mind was churning and no amount of focus was bringing any serenity. The sage opened his eyes, frustration filling him. His eyes went to the other room where Gandhari lay exhausted from her labour. It had been touch and go, but fortunately he and Suka were able to save the Maharani and her children.

He frowned as he rose. The children were still not out of danger, and the specially made jars he had brought with him were keeping them alive for now. They were too weak and too premature, which was only to be expected. He wondered if the Maharani herself was aware she had given birth to eight children. Probably not. It was not a normal birth anyway. He had to induce her to give birth so as to save the babies from the poison that someone had fed Gandhari. The antidote would also have been fatal to the unborn children. It was certainly providential that both Suka and he were in Hastinapura. The old priest had fallen ill, and Suka had agreed to fill in for him which had necessitated their prolonged stay. Otherwise, they would have been on their way weeks ago, and probably Gandhari would have miscarried again, and the effect of the poison would have ensured she would have no more children. Vyasa shivered, though the night was not cold. It was truly destiny that had been instrumental in his being here at this time. That realization was what caused him to shiver.

He glanced into the room. Gandhari was asleep still. Her maid was sleeping on a pallet on the floor. The jars were behind a partition and they were undisturbed. He turned and went into the third room of the hut where Suka was already asleep on his pallet. Vyasa envied his son. There was nothing bothering Suka. He was not plagued by realization of destiny or by thoughts of who it was that attempted to kill the heir to the throne of Hastinapura. Vyasa sat down on his own pallet. That thought was not all that disturbed him, though it was at the forefront of his mind. Who could have done such a heinous deed? To kill an unborn child was the worst of sins, and yet, someone had attempted it with impunity. The most probable answer was some other Kingdom with a grudge against Hastinapura, and the most probable candidate was Panchala. And that was the thought that disturbed the sage the most. That this could have been arranged by Panchala was a possibility he did not want to even contemplate. Of course, there was no proof, but if he knew Vidura, he would be moving heaven and earth to find out what happened. And if it turned out that Panchala was behind this attempt... Wars had been fought for less.

Vyasa remembered the promise he had given his mother years ago. That promise meant that he had to avert a war between Kuru and Panchala at any cost. That meant that he had to ensure that whatever Vidura found would need to remain a secret. And it also meant that he would need to enjoin Suka to silence too. No one should be allowed to know that Gandhari had been poisoned. She had already suffered one miscarriage. He could say that the strain of carrying eight babies had causes her to almost miscarry this time too. Now that both she and the babies were safe, no one needed to know about the poisoning.

His gaze fell on the sleeping form of his son. Would Suka agree to keep this secret without knowing why? It was unlikely. Yet, he could not break his promise to his mother. So, where did it leave him? He could command Suka's obedience, and Suka being who he was would certainly obey, but Vyasa did not like to do it. But in this case, he might not have a choice.

The sage lay down on his pallet, his mind still troubled. Was it wise to command secrecy when he did not even know for certain if Panchala was behind the poisoning? And if he did keep it secret, what guarantee was there that there would not be another attempt? And even if there wasn't, was it right of him to keep this secret? Didn't Dhritarashtra have a right to know the truth? But there was still the promise he gave his mother. The promise he should never have given. For, in giving that, he'd betrayed his brother. What mattered that Bheeshma was not his brother by blood? He was the only brother he had and he had betrayed him when he promised his mother to keep a secret that was not his to keep.

But what was done was done, and could not be undone now. All that remained now was to ensure that no war happened between the Kurus and the Panchalas. He would need to speak with Vidura. He would send Suka to Vidura in the morning. Once he learned what Vidura had uncovered, he could make his decision. It was unlikely that Vidura might disturb the Maharaja with any news whilst the Maharani was still in danger. That made it all the more imperative for him to talk to Vidura immediately.

The sage's eyes fell on the thatched roof of the hut. The frame for the roof was made of wood and was fixed to the walls. The walls themselves were made of mud and polished with cow dung, as was the floor. The thatch was made of leaves and straw and the top was covered with a thin layer of leaves coated in wax that insulated the roof from rain as well as from termites. The bottom part of the thatch was new, and had been replaced the previous day. Suka had insisted on doing it himself, and the guards under Kanika had kept a watchful eye as Suka had re-thatched the hut, room by room. Vyasa was grateful that it was not yet Varsha, for once that started, it would be difficult to stay in the hut, no matter how well thatched it was.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the sage fell asleep, the thoughts that kept him from meditating falling silent.
Twenty Four

The noise was loud and raucous and it woke him. Vasushena blinked his eyes in the dark. He raised his head slightly. He could see his father on the cot. Atiratha was fast asleep. His mother was awake, as she sat up from her pallet and looked around, bewildered. Sangrama was still sound asleep. Vasu opened his mouth to ask her what woke her when the noise started up again. It was a cacophony of noises. The sound of donkeys braying and jackals howling and he could also hear crows cawing.

"What is that sound?" his mother whispered, her eyes wide and full of fear, and her voice shaking.

"It sounds like animals," Vasu said quietly.

"In the middle of the night? In the city?" His mother asked, her voice still shaking.

It was unusual. But Vasu was certain there must be a logical reason for it all. He wished Bakula, the man who used to teach them was still around. He could have asked that man about the noises. But he had just disappeared one day. The elders thought that he must have left Hastinapura. After all, his arrival was sudden too, and none of them knew anything about him. He was a knowledgeable man and had been willing to give lessons to the children, and so no one had asked any questions. All he asked in return was a place to stay and food to eat.

None of the elders knew that Bakula had started to teach Vasu to fight with a sword. In the short time he had, he had taught Vasu the basics of sword fight, archery and how to use the spear and the knife. He also taught him how to sharpen his weapons, and to care for them.

"Are you certain you are no Kshatriya?" Bakula had asked him one day, a quizzical look on his face. Vasu had laughed, and Bakula had shaken his head. "I've seen many Sutas, but none with an aptitude for weapons as you have. There aren't even many Kshatriyas with this much affinity and ability. You're certain you're no foundling?"

"Of course not!" Vasu had snorted.

Vasu wished now that Bakula was still around. He might have been able to explain why wild animals were in the city. The noise continued. He stood up. "I'll go outside and see what's happening," he said.

"Vasu, be careful," his mother said anxiously.

"There's only some donkeys out there," he said. "Don't worry, mother."

Outside, the sky was clear, and the moon shone bright, but hail was falling. Not a shower, but a drizzle, and the hailstones were the sizes of the small pebbles Vasu and his friends used to gather from the riverbank. There was also fires in the distance, though they were far from the city. Perhaps a forest fire had started. That would explain the animals rushing out, and the noises. The streets were empty despite all the cacophony, but Vasu could see lamps being lit and people standing on verandahs and behind half open doors. No one wanted to go out into the hail. Vasu shook his head as he closed the door behind him and went back to his room.

"I think there's a forest fire," he said. "That's what probably caused all the animals to go berserk. Don't worry. The soldiers would not allow them to come into the city."

His mother nodded, relieved. "I was really scared," she admitted as she lay back down.

"I know," He lay down next to his brother, who immediately curled up closer. The night was slightly cold, and Vasu put an arm around his brother, holding him close. It was still strange, the forest fire breaking out suddenly. And where did all the donkeys and crows come from? Come to think of it, he hadn't seen a single animal anywhere, though the noise was still there. And from where did the hail come from? There was not a single cloud in the sky. Hail, fire, animal sounds. It was all extremely strange.

Vasu wished that there was someone he could ask about such things, someone who wouldn't give him superstitions as if they were fact, someone who knew. And there was no one he knew that matched that criterion. Perhaps it was having Bakula there for a while that caused him to feel so. Bakula had been truly knowledgeable and he had taught him to use his head, to question, to think, and he'd also taught him the difference between superstitions and facts. Most of his friends were not interested in Bakula's lessons. They were there because their parents asked them to be there. Vasu too had started out that way, but after a few lessons, it had changed for him. And now, Bakula had gone, and Vasu knew that he could not go back to being what he was before. He could not accept platitudes and superstitions anymore. He could not stop thinking.

Bakula's words had made him think. Why was it he thought Vasu was a Kshatriya? Was an affinity towards weapons something inherent only in Kshatriyas? Bakula had also praised Vasu's ability. Did that mean only Kshatriyas had the ability to wield weapons? Or that only they had the ability to learn as fast as Bakula had said Vasu was learning. He remembered that Veera still was not able to hit a target with his arrow. Nor was he able to wield a sword or a spear the same way as Vasu. Bakula had taught him only the basics, but none of his friends had been able to learn that. Most of them had stopped attending the weapons training after the first few lessons and only Vasu had persisted.

"None but a Kshatriya could have this persistence or this endurance," Bakula had told him once.

Why? Vasu wondered. Why were Kshatriyas so special? And if for some reason, they were, then how did Vasu who was a Suta get so many of their qualities? There had to be a reason why he was the way he was. Or perhaps Bakula was just wrong, and these qualities were not exclusive to Kshatriyas but could manifest in anyone.

The noises had died down, and from the silence, Vasu knew that the hail had stopped too. But he was too tense to sleep again. He held his brother close and wished again for a teacher.
Twenty Five

Kunti opened her eyes slowly. She had drowsed off during the middle of the day. Again. She grimaced as she sat up. The shadows had lengthened, showing it was almost evening. She had felt tired and had meant to lie down for a moment. But the sleepless night attending to her infants had tired her more than she had realized.

It had been a week since her sons had been born. She had been in too much pain at the time to rejoice in the fact that she had given birth to twin sons. But once the birth was over, and she had come to her senses, she had felt triumphant, not least because it meant she would not need to repeat a night with Vidura. Pandu had sent word to Hastinapura immediately, but no message had come yet from the capital. But then, the messenger had gone on foot, and probably could not traverse the distance in a night as a horse could have done. Pandu had been quite proud, and though the birth was premature and one of the twins, the elder, was small and sickly, it was enough that the children were there, and that they were both boys.

The seven months had been difficult for Kunti in spite of Pandu treating her as if she was made of glass, and Madri taking on most of the duties of the household. The first few months, she had been unable to eat anything, subsisting on liquids and herbal mixtures that only made her gag worse than ever. Solid foods made her nauseous, and even the smells of cooking had been enough to make her throw up, that they had a new hut built for her, where the breeze would not waft in the smells of cooking to her. But even then, it had been difficult, because the forest was full of all kinds of smells, and some were too intense and made her nauseous. She also had dizzy spells, and though most of her nausea had passed by the time her pregnancy was into the fourth month, the dizzy spells had persisted almost to the very end.

Kunti could remember little about the actual delivery. She could recall the pain, and the midwife telling her to push, and it felt like her life was draining out of her body and she had screamed in her pain. Even when it was over, and she could hear the cries of her children, and the midwife was whispering to her that she had two sons, she was too exhausted to pay attention. At some point, the dasis had brought the children to her, and had laid them at her breast, and they had latched on to her nipples, suckling greedily while she lay there, passive and the babies were supported by the dasis' arms as they drank their fill.

She was up and about in two days, but she still felt exhausted, though her head felt clearer than it had in a long time. It was as if she had been living in a haze for the past few months, and finally she could think straight. Her eldest son was her immediate concern. He was the heir to her husband's throne, and he was the weaker of the two. She had thrown all her attention on him, ignoring the sturdier younger one, and leaving him to wet-nurses. The week was the longest in her life, and she had a feeling that it was going to be a long struggle forward. She would not have her eldest shunted to a side in favour of his younger brother because of his health, not if she could help it. She was determined to make him healthy, and she would too.

She went outside to where Madri was holding the younger twin and crooning to him softly. Kunti's lips tightened at the sight. Madri seemed to have taken on the role of mother for the second child, and though Kunti was not averse to that- someone needed to take care of the child, anyway- she was not happy either. Her eldest was her sole focus, and though she was not going to let anyone else share the duties of caring for him, that did not mean she wanted them to ignore him either. Which is what Madri did most of the time. Probably because he was not as healthy as his brother, cried a lot, and it was more trouble looking after him. Even in one week, that had been evident.

"Yudhistira," Pandu had said as he had lifted the infant in his arms the day after he was born. "He shall be named Yudhistira."

Kunti had said nothing, but she had hoped for a better name. Steady in battle was good, but she wanted him to have a name more fitting to a Maharaja. But then, Pandu literally meant the Pale One, and he had been a Maharaja too. The Kurus had odd ways of naming their heirs-apparent.

"Bheema," Pandu had turned to the second child. "He shall be Bheema."

Kunti stopped herself from rolling her eyes. That name was at least apt, considering that for a baby born prematurely, he was large. He might grow up to be a large man too, which was good. Yudhistira would need Bheema to protect him. She had to ensure that Bheema would ever remain loyal and unquestioningly obedient to his brother. If Yudhistira were to sit on the throne of Hastinapura one day, he would need Bheema, because there really was no one else he could depend on. Among Kshatriyas, all alliances were fickle except the bonds of blood and sometimes marriage.

There was a commotion to the north, and Kunti walked as fast as she could to the place to see a rider dismounting. Vidura did not look too good. He was haggard, and worn, and tired, and it gave her actual pleasure to see him like that. Her smile was tight-lipped as Pandu led him to her. It was the first time she was seeing him after the night she had spent with him, and she could still feel the revulsion coiling in her gut at the memory.

"There was no need for you to have come," Pandu was scowling as he led his brother into his hut, Kunti following. "What if someone suspects anything?"

"Why should they?" Vidura asked. "You were Maharaja once, and I'm the Pradhanamantrin, and your brother. What could be more natural than my visit at such an auspicious occasion? The gifts from Hastinapura are following, so no one is going to suspect anything."

"What is the news from Hastinapura?" Kunti asked before Pandu could start picking holes in Vidura's argument.

"None," Vidura said. "The Maharani still remains in limbo, so to speak. The sage hasn't allowed anyone to visit her, and I've not been able to bribe or threaten news out of anyone."

"I don't like this," Pandu muttered. "Niyoga is one thing, but you trying to cause a miscarriage to the Maharani- that is dangerous Vidura."

"If Maharani Gandhari were to give birth before your beautiful wife here, then your son is never going to be a Maharaja. Face the reality, brother. You've been gone for a while now. People have forgotten you. Everyone will be wanting Dhritarashtra's son on the throne."

"You don't know that," Pandu pointed out. "Besides, I'm not certain I want my son to be the Maharaja."

Kunti pressed her lips together, suppressing the angry words that rose to her lips. It would not do to pick a fight with her husband in front of Vidura. Vidura scoffed. "Of course, you don't."

"I mean it. I don't want my children to be anything other than that. Children. They do not need the intrigues and danger and spying and backbiting. They will be much better off without all that. So, please stop trying to kill my brother's child."

Vidura's eyes met Kunti's, and she saw the same determination in his eyes that was on hers. And she realized that he was her only ally in this battle.
Twenty Six

Sakuni sat near his sister, fuming internally, but calm outside. It had only been a week since the sage had deigned to allow him and the Maharaja to visit. Gandhari had given birth to eight babies, the sage had told them. The strain of the pregnancy was what caused the Maharani to nearly miscarry. The sage's timely intervention had saved the children. The Maharaja and Sakuni could be at ease now. But no visitors were to be permitted till the children were ready to be taken out of the special jars where the sage had placed them. They were far too premature and would have died if not for those jars.

Those jars were a marvel. Sakuni had never seen or heard of anything like it. They were shaped like small cradles and the sage had told them that it replicated the conditions of a woman's womb as closely as possible, and that the children would be receiving nutrients through the tubes protruding from the lids of the jars. Suka had tried explaining the details, but Sakuni was not able to follow half of it. There was no doubt that Suka was a very clever person. The cradles were his design as was the medicine that had saved the Maharani's life. But Suka freely admitted that his father was the one who came up with how to feed the babies through those tubes, without which they would not have survived anyway.

Dhritarashtra was overjoyed at hearing he had eight children. And he had also developed a spine to stand up to his uncle and put his foot down on his proposed second marriage. He was not taking any more wives. If the succession could not be safe with eight heirs, then it could never be safe. He'd also listened to Sakuni's advice to make Kanika a minister in the teeth of protests from both Vidura and Bheeshma. Sakuni just hoped that his brother-in-law would continue to have his own thoughts. Bheeshma and Vidura had held him on a leash long enough. He was not an incompetent man. He was an efficient administrator, and his blindness did not impede him in any way. Sakuni admired his brother-in-law, but had been frustrated by his submitting to the will of his uncle at every turn. He always disliked conflict and took the path of least resistance, but it appeared to have changed now. Perhaps it was the realization that he was a father now, and needed to learn to stand up for himself and be a role model to his children. Whatever the reasons, Sakuni was happy enough with the change.

The news of the childbirth was still not announced officially. None outside the royal family and the maids that attended Gandhari knew it. The maids had not been allowed to go to their houses since Gandhari's collapse. Their families were informed that they were needed by the Maharani. That information was given at Sakuni's insistence. The Maharajas of Hastinapura had never deemed it necessary to trouble themselves with the families of their servants. It disgusted Sakuni, the lack of consideration given to the lower strata.

Sakuni touched his sister's head. She was asleep, exhaustion evident in her features. She had lost some weight and there were lines of pain on her face that had not been there before. Sakuni had no doubt that all that was brought about by the near-miscarriage. Fortunately, it was all behind her, but it still angered him. There was a royal physician, and he had not even realized that the Maharani was in imminent danger. She'd already miscarried once, they should have been prepared for the possibility that it could happen again. And how did the physician not know that she was weakened and that the strain of carrying eight babies might cause a collapse? He should have advised her to rest. Perhaps all this could have been avoided then.

"Prince Sakuni," Suka sounded respectful.

"Sage Suka," Sakuni half rose and sat down again, his hands absent mindedly stroking his sister's hair. He avoided looking at the piece of cloth that was tied over her eyes. He felt red hot rage boil inside him every time he saw that, and hence he avoided looking at his sister these days, even when they conversed. Fortunately, she was not aware that his eyes were elsewhere due to her adopted blindness.

"News has come from the forest that the former Maharani Kunti had been delivered of twin sons." The sage said calmly. "My father enjoined me to bring you the news."

"Thank you," Sakuni said. "But I wonder why. I hardly know Pandu or his wife."

"You don't care much for the Kurus, do you?"

"What gave you that impression?" Sakuni asked, neither denying nor confirming the sage's observation.

"You love your sister. You must resent them for binding her to a blind man for life."

Sakuni made a face. "I don't resent them for that. Truly, I don't. But I do wish they had tried to talk her out of that blindfold. They... they just accepted it. No one ever tried to talk her out of it."

"You think she did it out of pique?"

"I know she did it out of pique. She was probably expecting someone to talk her out of it. But... well, the Kurus didn't know her, and having once taken the blindfold, she could not put it aside either, for the sake of her pride if nothing else."

"Her husband did not try to talk her out of it either."

"He's a very biddable person. And he used to accept everything his uncle told him. He seemed to have changed of late. I just hope the change is permanent."

Sakuni did not know why he was telling Suka all this, but it had festered in him for long, and it felt good to let it all out.

"The Maharaja is learning to have faith in himself." The sage said. "As for the Maharani's blindfold, I think that It's too late now. And I no longer think she's troubled by pique or pride."

"You mean she's used to it now."

"I mean, now she keeps it on for the reason she proffered at the time of tying it for the first time. Because she truly wishes to share her husband's darkness."

Sakuni snorted. "Fat lot of good it does either of them. She should have been his eyes. That would have helped him. But sharing his darkness?" He shook his head. "That's a recipe for disaster."

"You may not agree with her reasons, but you have to respect it."

"I do. I really do. But it doesn't mean I've to like it, And it doesn't mean I think the Kurus were right in allowing her to do that. She was a child. They should have told her not to do it."

"It was not they who asked her to do it."

"She was very young, no better than a child! They should have known better."

Suka smiled and shook his head. "You're determined to be obdurate, Prince of Gandhara. Sometimes, It's a good quality, but not always. Notwithstanding your feelings for the Kurus, they are your sister's family, and you would do well to remember that."

"I'm not going to destroy her family. And who appointed you as the protector of the Kurus anyway?"

"I think the Kurus are perfectly capable of protecting themselves. I take a hand only when necessary, like now."

Sakuni drew a deep breath. "Thank you for that," he said. "You saved my sister's children."

"They're my brother's children too," Suka said softly. "Though they might not be so in the eyes of law."

Sakuni snorted again. "So, you're not above fraternal feelings."

Suka shook his head, smiling. "Detachment is a long journey. I don't think I'm there yet."

"Good for my sister." Sakuni said, looking at the still sleeping form of his sister. He heard the sage leave, closing the door softly behind him.
Twenty Seven

Atiratha sank on to the floor of his house wearily. His shoulder was stiff and aching, and he tried to rotate it to alleviate the pain and stiffness. The whole day had been spent in driving around various members of the royal family to all parts of the city. The whole Kingdom was rejoicing, but the members of the royal family all had grim faces. One would have thought they were attending funeral processions instead of celebrations of childbirth. Eight royal children! Atiratha could not remember the last time such a thing might have happened. There were stories of Maharajas who had had more children, but never eight at once. As one among the race of storytellers and bards, Atiratha was familiar with most of the stories of the Maharajas of Hastinapura, though he had not pursued story telling as a profession, choosing to be a charioteer instead. It was not a career of first choice for most Sutas, but they all accepted the practicalities. One son from every family had to be a charioteer. Otherwise they knew the Kshatriya royalty would soon strip them of even the little choice they had. After all, Maharajas needed charioteers more than story tellers.

The Maharaja and his brother-in-law had both been angry that day. Senapati Bheeshma had been grim, and the Pradhanamantrin Vidura forbidding. The Queen mothers who visited various temples, had all been worried. Maharani Gandhari was still confined to the royal apartments. Atiratha did not know what caused the reactions in the royals. After all, it was an occasion of joy, and the whole Kingdom was celebrating. He only wished he could have been able to celebrate it with his family. But now he was home, and he was tired, and his family was not back from the celebrations. On an impulse, Atiratha rose and went to the back of the house to the small room where they stored grains and other food. On a corner, buried under some stones, was the box that Vasushena had been in. That day was still fresh in Atiratha's memory. That box still held one of the coins and the piece of cloth the baby had been wrapped in, both with the same strange emblem as on the inside of the box's lid. That emblem was probably the only link his son had to his real identity. The inside of the box too had been coated in a light metallic film with the same emblem worked on it. It resembled a rising sun surrounded by stars, which, as far as Atiratha knew, did not belong to any royal family.

He went back inside the house, and out the front. The celebrations were likely to continue late into the night, and all his tiredness notwithstanding, he needed to go there if he wanted to see his family. He followed the sound of music, and the fireworks that started to light up the darkening sky. Once the night fully fell, the sky would be a riot of coloured lights and the noise would be deafening. Right now it was mostly drums, and Atiratha could feel their beat reverberate across his whole body. It was as if there were giant drums inside his body that were beating in time with the drums.

"Father!" Sangramajith had a big grin on his face as he suddenly appeared at Atiratha's side and grasped his hand. "You're here!"

Atiratha smiled at his youngest as he hoisted him on to his shoulder. "Where's your brother?" He had to shout to make himself heard over the noise of the drums, the fireworks and the crowd.

"Must be with his friends. I lost him in the crowd. Mother is over there," the child pointed, and now, Atiratha could make out Radha chatting animatedly with the other women. A soft smile appeared on his lips. She looked happy. His eyes scanned the crowd for Vasushena, but he could not find him. He saw Asmita, and Veera, but Vasushena was not with them. Atiratha was not too worried, though. It wasn't easy to notice anyone in this crowd, especially with the noise and the fireworks. Besides, Vasushena was neither small nor sickly any more. He was old enough, and definitely able to make it home on his own.

Radha caught his eye and smiled at him, and he started moving towards her. She said something towards the other women, and Atiratha still could not understand how these women could make themselves heard or understood amidst all the noise. They certainly were not shouting. She approached him, and took Sangrama from him. The child looked tired, and as soon as he was in his mother's arms, he lay his head against her shoulder and closed his eyes. Atiratha smiled at his wife, and gestured to her to follow him, as he walked back towards their house. Once home, Radha laid the sleeping Sangrama down on to his pallet and said. "You ought to bring Vasushena back."

"Let him enjoy the celebrations. He's old enough."

"You have a headache," she said, placing a hand over his forehead.

"The noise," he said. "And the exertion. I'm not getting any younger."

"You shouldn't be exerting this much," she scolded. "That shoulder needs care."

"It's not like I've a choice," he said. "We both know that. At least we're free, not like the dasas."

"Yes," she nodded. "That is something, I guess."

"Are you hungry?" She asked, as she started massaging his shoulder.

"No, I had food." He smiled. "I can stay home with Sangrama. If you want to go back to the celebrations, and catch up with your friends on all the women things you want to talk about..."

"We won't be able to talk now that the fireworks have started," she said. "The drums were bad enough, but the fireworks make it just impossible to see or hear anything. Besides, I've been on my feet all day, and I'm happy to be resting."

He nodded, as he leaned against her, closing his eyes. She was soft and warm and he was beginning to feel drowsy as her fingers started to card through his hair. He hoped Vasushena would come home soon. Radha would not sleep till he did and he did not want her to stay up long.
Twenty Eight

Madri cooed to the baby in her arms. He was too young to recognize her or to respond to her, but she still kept talking to him. There was no one else for her to talk to anyway. She was no fool. She knew Kunti saw her as a rival from start. And the truth of Pandu's impotence had shattered all her hopes. Though Pandu appeared to prefer her, Madri knew different. She was just one more reminder of his inability, and he resented her just as much as he resented Kunti. It was actually a relief to her when he had been gone for the Dig Vijaya campaign.

What hurt Madri the most was neither Pandu's indifference nor Kunti's hostility. What hurt her was the way her brother had all but sold her to the Kurus. She knew of the bargain that Bheeshma had struck with her brother. She knew just how much her brother had been paid for her. And what was worse was Bheeshma knew the kind of life he was condemning her to, and when she reached Hastinapura as a new bride, he acted as if nothing was amiss. She wondered if the man was simply amoral or if he enjoyed making others miserable. Was it due to the rumoured vow of celibacy he'd taken?

That vow was only a rumour outside Hastinapura. Even in Hastinapura, most people did not remember it, and those that did rarely talked of it. The Maharani Satyavati knew, and perhaps the two Queen mothers. But apart from them, Bheeshma himself was the only one who knew the truth of those rumours. In her early days as a bride, Madri had gently and subtly pried. Her mother-in-law, Ambalika had snorted.

"There was never any vow, not the kind that is rumoured anyway. The truth is, the former Maharaja was so enamoured of Satyavati, that he agreed to make her son the Maharaja and ordered Bheeshma to honour that promise. Somehow, it all got twisted to a vow of celibacy. He was not celibate, not when... Anyway, the Maharani would not have permitted him to marry if she had the power. And he... I don't know the details either, but she was just as determined as her father to see her son as Maharaja and for his children to follow him to the throne. Don't be fooled by her benevolent mask. She is just as ruthless as her stepson, and quite as ambitious."

That conversation had stayed with Madri. She knew then that the Kurus were not just ruthless and ambitious, but also capable of twisting the truth to suit them. And no one was left alive who knew the truth. She knew that both the Queen mothers were frightened of Bheeshma, which spoke more than any words would have. She also knew why Satyavati had chosen Vyasa for Niyoga instead of Bheeshma who was the obvious choice. The Maharani was determined that it should be the children of her son who would inherit the Kuru throne.

Even after her marriage, a part of her had hoped that her brother would rescue her once he learned of Pandu's condition. On Salya's visit to Hastinapura, she had plucked up the courage to confide in him. And in return, she had got a lecture on the duties and responsibilities of a good wife. But Madri knew the truth. The riches Bheeshma gave meant more to her brother than her. Besides, her return would occasion a scandal, and Bheeshma would make sure that the scandal would reflect more on her than on Pandu.

Madri rocked the baby in her arms gently. Bheema was almost asleep. She looked at the hut where Kunti was sequestered with Pandu and Vidura. Try as she might, Madri could not bring herself to like Vidura. She had noticed the way he looked at Kunti from the beginning and had been shocked by it, but Pandu seemed to pay no attention to it. No one did. She knew that Kunti hated him, and yet she had agreed to lie with him for the sake of having a child. Madri glanced at the babe in her arms. Was it really worth sleeping with a man she loathed? Kunti certainly seemed to think so. And though Madri could tell that Kunti still hated Vidura, she was being civil to him these days.

Bheema hiccuped in his sleep and Madri went towards the hut which served as the nursery. It had two cradles and pallets for the wet nurse as well as for the dasis who looked after the children during the night. Yudhistira was in his cradle, asleep. Madri lay Bheema down in his cradle, nodded at the dasi and went out again. The days were quite monotonous, and she was bored already. There was nothing to do.

She went to where Vidura's horse was tethered. The grooms looked at her, but made no attempt to stop her as she went near the horse. Vidura had good taste in horses, at least. She stroked the glossy mane of the horse. She missed riding. She had not ridden a horse since her marriage. Apparently, such pastimes were not feminine enough for the Kurus. She looked at the hut. Vidura was not likely to come out anytime soon. And even if he did, he could wait.

"Saddle the horse," she ordered the groom. "And help me up,"

She was not dressed for riding, but she was not going to allow that to stop her. The groom stared at her in confusion.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" She asked imperiously. That tone had caused the domestic servants in Madra to quake, and the groom seemed to be cut from the same cloth, for he hastened to obey her.

Madri rode out of the clearing, and into the trees, up the hill next to the clearing. The wind whipped her face, and her hair came out of its knot to stream behind her. Madri laughed, and the sound startled her. How long had it been since she had laughed! It felt good to be on a horse, and suddenly she felt exultant, jubilant. She galloped up the hill and reined the horse in once on top. The clearing was invisible from here. The wind was strong, trying to knock her down, but she stayed firmly on the saddle, her knees gripping the sides of the horse, and her hands firm on the reins.
Twenty Nine

The forest was dark and there were no visible paths. The trees grew so close together even daylight could not penetrate the canopy of leaves. There was barely enough gap between trunks for a man to pass through, and the ground was a network of crisscrossed tree roots, sticking up every which way. The man who leaned against one of the trees was panting. He looked around and sank down on to a root, leaning against a tree. In the gloom, he looked like a shadow.

"Bakula, this is a right mess you've gotten yourself into," he muttered. "Only a fool deals with royalty and only an absolute idiot deals with the Kurus. You should have known better. Let's just hope that Pradhanamantrin Vidura is not having any spies in this place, or the length of your life's anybody's bet."

He closed his eyes for a moment, listening. The forest was not quiet, and he could hear the sound of leaves rustling, birds chirping, and muted roars too. This part of the forest was too thick even for predators, but not for snakes. Pythons and cobras were there in plenty, but he was yet to come across one. He knew it was just good fortune, but there was no guarantee it would last. With his luck, it was quite possible that he would end up a snake's dinner.

He got up, though he was tired. He needed to find some place safer. The lack of undergrowth here did not make it any easier for walking. He had to get out of the forest soon. If he kept going in the same direction, he would be in the mountains within a few days, or perhaps a few weeks. Either way, he was in for a long trudge. When he accepted the job, he had not expected to be fleeing for his life. Some of the people in the guild of assassins had warned him. Kshatriyas could not be trusted. Neither could Brahmanas. Only Vaisyas could be depended upon to keep to the terms of an agreement. Both Kshatriyas and Brahmanas would try and wriggle out of one. But at least when you deal with Brahmanas, there was no risk of losing your life. Kshatriyas were a whole new breed altogether. They used assassins to do their dirty work, and then got rid of the assassins. Clean.

His right foot caught in a root and he fell down, his ankle twisting. He swore as he rose gingerly, and took a few steps, not putting any weight on the injured ankle. But he knew that he was not going to make it out of the forest alive now. He sat down again, and considered his options. He could stay here and be a python's dinner. He could try and move forward, but with his ankle, Rudra alone knew when he would get out of the forest. If he did not get devoured by a lion or a tiger or a wolf or any of the other animals that frequented these forests first. He could go back and allow Pradhanamantrin Vidura to capture and execute him as an assassin. There was a reason assassins were banned in most Kingdoms, though true to their hypocritical nature, the ruling classes were not above making deals with them. None of the options looked attractive.

Then he remembered the small cave he'd spent the night in a day ago. The cave was hidden, was secluded, and was deep enough in the woods to ensure no stray traveller or soldier was going to stumble upon it by accident. He had found it because he'd been seeking shelter. A fire at its mouth, just outside would keep animals at bay. There were deer and rabbits that he could hunt, and he still had his bow and arrow, and other weapons. There was also a small stream nearby. If he could make it to the cave, he could lay low till his ankle healed, and then he could be on his way. But how to make it back there? He could barely walk, and with both legs working it had taken him more than a day to reach here from the cave. With his ankle in the condition it was in, he did not think he would make it far. But he had to try. The cave was his best option so far.

He stood up again, leaning against the tree. He took out an axe from his belt. Fortunate that he was not a Kshatriya. Kshatriyas had such odd notions about weapons. He started hacking at one of the larger roots protruding from the ground. After two blows, his legs were shaking and he had to sit down, panting. His legs were still shaking. He gritted his teeth and stood up again. He might not be a Kshatriya, but he was a trained assassin, a Ghataka, and he had better tolerance for pain than this. He swung the axe again, taking care not to put much weight on his right foot. It was slow work, and he had to stop often, but he managed to cut off a stout piece which he could use as a crutch.

He limped back the way he came, stopping for the night near a large bush. He lit a fire near, and snared a rabbit. He skinned it with his dagger and roasted it over the fire. There wasn't much meat in the animal, and it was tough and chewy, but he was so famished he finished every scrap, even sucking off the bones in the end. It was hardly filling, but it was better than starving, and he drank some water from the waterskin he had. The water was almost over, and if he could not find the stream the next day, and follow it to the cave, he would be in trouble.

He had his dagger under his arm, and his bow at arm's reach with his spear close by and his shield over his chest as he slept. He only hoped it would be enough. He was a light sleeper, and had been trained to wake at the slightest of noises, but with his ankle which had already swollen, he knew that he was at a disadvantage, especially in the forest. He had spread dry twigs all around where he slept and had lit them on fire, creating a circle of fire. There were no dry leaves or twigs inside the circle, so he had little fear of the fire spreading even if there was not a ring of stones inside. He knew the fire would not last the night, but most nocturnal predators in these parts did not hunt late into the night. He ought to be safe enough. And he was still deep enough inside the forest that he would not attract attention from people either.

Despite the hardness of the ground, he fell asleep instantly. He was trained to sleep in all circumstances just as he was trained to wake at the slightest disturbance.
Thirty

Bakula woke suddenly, and was alert the next moment. Something had caused him to wake. He looked around, but all was still. He could tell that the sun was about to rise. He had to get a move on if he wanted to make the cave before sunset that day. He wasn't certain he would. The swelling on his ankle was worse, and he could hardly move his leg. But he knew he had to try. He didn't want to die in this forest. He didn't want to die. Period. But that might just happen if he did not somehow get to that cave. He hoped his ankle was not broken. Though all assassins had enough knowledge about human anatomy to take care of most injuries, a broken bone was not one he felt competent to fix, especially not in a forest. But he could try and find herbs to bring down the swelling.

The day passed much as the previous one had. The swelling did not subside, and he felt as if he was walking on fire with every step he took. The weapons he carried were weighing him down, though normally he never felt their weight. Even the waterskin was heavier than usual. By noon, there was nothing he wanted more than to lie down somewhere and rest, but he knew that to succumb to that desire would be the end. Fortunately, he did manage to find the herbs he wanted. There were the ones to bring down swelling, to numb pain and to bring down fevers. He collected all of them, thanking the Aswins. Again, in a stroke of providence, he managed to steer clear of predators, though he could hear their roars.

The sun was almost down when he found the cave again. And for one moment, he stood there just staring at it. Though he wanted to rush into it, he was careful. He held his spear ready, and lit a torch with some fallen branches. He had to ensure that no animal had taken shelter in there. He approached the cave with as much stealth as he could manage in his condition. He had not had time to apply the herbs to his ankle yet, and the pain was making him feel lightheaded. The lack of food for the entire day did not help either. His skin felt clammy, and he was beginning to feel nauseous. He took a careful step into the cave. It was empty, and he sighed in relief. He began the process of hiding the cave mouth from view using branches and stones. Then he built a small fire just inside, and built a funnel of stones to form a makeshift chimney for the smoke. He boiled some water and ground the herbs to make the herbal mixture to apply to his ankle. That done, he lay down by the fire, and gave in to his exhaustion.

It was a small sound that woke him. His fire had gone out, and the cave was cold. He judged the time to be around dawn. He was feeling more refreshed after the long sleep. He checked his ankle and found that the swelling had reduced. The pain was also not so intense. He rose gingerly, picking up his knife in one hand and the spear in another. Using the shaft of the spear as a crutch, he limped to the front of the cave. There had definitely been a noise. He soon found it. A couple of birds were on the ground, pecking at something. But even as he took one more step, they took flight screeching. His stomach grumbled loudly reminding him that he had not had anything to eat for a while. He went to the river, filled his waterskins, washed himself and his clothes and caught a couple of fish. He cleaned the fish there itself, burying the remains deeply, and carried the cleaned fishes and a couple of flat stones, leaves and sticks that he had cleaned in the river. He had no cooking utensils except for the small pot which he used for food and medicines. He also carried some dry sand wrapped in a leaf. He did not think he'd be able to make the trip to the river too frequently till his ankle was healed.

He cooked the fish, wrapping it in leaves and burying it in the coals. There was no seasoning, but he had never tasted anything so heavenly, not even in the royal palace of Hastinapura. After that, he made the herbal paste once more to apply to his ankle. Then, he started checking his weapons. None of them were rusted or blunted, and he picked up his bow and strung it, and then unstrung it again. He could not afford to lose any arrows. Suddenly he heard the sound of voices. He stiffened immediately, crawling to the front of the cave, and pulling a leafy branch across its mouth to hide it. He crouched behind it, looking through the leaves. He sighed with relief when he found it was only two boys. But he frowned as he recognized them. They were from the village where he had stayed while preparing the poison for the Maharani. He'd taught some of the boys, and he remembered these two. Veera and Vasushena. Veera had stopped coming to the lessons after a few days, but Vasushena had come till the very end till when he'd decided to run for it to escape the Pradhanamantrin's men. The death of his friend in the palace had given him enough warning. There was a reason the assassins always worked in pairs.

Vasushena had interested him even then. The boy had qualities he'd never found in any Suta. If he didn't know better, he would have thought him a Kshatriya. Even his appearance was different from that of his parents or his brother. But Bakula had made discreet enquiries, and learned that Vasushena was indeed born and named there. His eyes and nose were definitely of Kshatriya lineage and that was what had caused Bakula to be suspicious. Of course, all Sutas were originally descended from Kshatriyas, but the features had blunted after generations, and it was startling to see them on the face of this boy. There was also his near insatiable thirst for knowledge, and his interest in warfare. Most Sutas were interested only in horses or in stories. This boy had all Kshatriya characteristics. He was large for his age too. Though only twelve, he was already the tallest among his friends, and developing fast too. There was also something vaguely familiar about his face. Of course, Bakula thought it was more likely that his mother had cheated on his father with some Kshatriya prince. It was not an impossibility. As a royal charioteer, the father was absent more often than not, and the mother was only human.

He wondered what the boys were doing so deep into the forest. They appeared to be searching for something, and Bakula feared they might discover his hiding place. They came very close when Veera straightened with something in his hand.

"Here it is," he said. "But it's broken."

"Let me see," Vasushena took it from him. Bakula could see that it was a crudely made arrow, snapped clean in half. He must have stepped on it earlier. Vasushena examined it with a frown.

"This is odd," he said. "What could have caused it to snap so cleanly?"

His eyes searched the surroundings as he spoke, and Bakula stopped breathing. He could not afford to be discovered. Vasushena's eyes passed over the covered cave mouth without lingering, and with a shrug, he turned to go.

"Let's get back before Sangrama comes looking for me again."

Bakula released his breath and sagged against the cave wall, even as he wondered what Vasushena had been doing.
Thirty One

Vasushena knew there was something odd about the broken arrow. And there was something odd about the place too. He'd not been there before. He'd never been this deep, but he had a powerful feeling of being watched. He did not know if it was some animal, perhaps a wolf or a lion or a tiger; they were so deep into the forest that it was quite possible. But if it was an animal, why didn't it attack? He said nothing to Veera. Veera was already nervous enough. He did not like coming into the forest much, and came only on Vasushena's insistence. Vasushena decided to go back at the earliest, just to put his mind to rest. He'd carry his knife and bow and arrow. That ought to be protection enough from any animal that might be there.

He went back the next day, around noon. It wasn't easy to find the place, but Vasushena had marked the trees the previous day with the head of the broken arrow. Veera had been too busy, listening for predators to notice. Even with the marks, it took a long time to find the exact place. Though it was still day, the forest canopy was thick enough to block most of the sun or Vasushena would not have noticed the smoke. It came from behind some bushes, and he made his way there cautiously. He realized it was not a bush, but a large branch concealing something behind. He was about to push it aside when something touched the small of his back.

"Turn around," a gruff yet familiar voice said.

Vasushena turned around to face Bakula. He was surprised to see him there, but even more surprised at his condition. He was unshaven, and his clothes were filthy, and his hair was wild. He was leaning on a stick, but the sword held to his heart was held in a steady hand, and his eyes were cold, and narrowed.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Exploring the forest," Vasushena said. "What are you doing here? You... you disappeared. Weeks ago!"

"None of your business." Bakula said. "Does anyone know you're here?"

"My friends," Vasushena lied without thinking. The look in Bakula's eyes was frightening. It was evident the man was hiding from something or someone, and it was likely that Bakula might kill him if he learned no one knew of his presence. But even now, there was a chance. Vasushena took a step backwards, into the screen of branches.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"I ought to," Bakula said. "I can't afford anyone to know I'm here."

"I won't tell anyone," Vasushena said.

"You're asking me to put my trust in your discretion? How old are you, boy? Twelve? You won't be able to keep a secret even if you wanted to!"

Vasushena was offended. "I can keep a secret," he said. "I've been keeping secrets for a long time."

"Really? What secret would that be?"

"If I told you, it won't be a secret, would it?" Vasushena knew he was pushing his luck, but somehow he needed to convince Bakula.

"Even so, it's safer for me if you're dead."

"I won't tell anyone," Vasushena said. "I give you my word. No one shall know you're here."

Bakula studied his face for a moment. Vasushena wondered what he saw. Strangely, he was not afraid, but felt excited. To be held at sword-point was uncomfortable, but it was also thrilling.

"You really expect me to let you go?" Bakula asked, sounding surprised.

"Yes?" Vasushena suddenly had an idea. "But you know what? I could come every day, and you can teach me all the things you know."

Bakula looked stunned. "Are you insane, boy? Don't you know who I am? I'm no teacher! I needed a pretext to stay in the city, and it was a good cover, that's all."

"But you do know things. You did teach us things."

"Yes, but that doesn't make me a teacher." he paused. "Besides which, what do I get out of it if I do agree to teach you?"

"I won't tell anyone about you."

"I've the sword, and you're at my mercy. So, no, you won't be telling anyone even if I don't teach you anything. In fact, I don't see why I should. Better to kill you."

"I'll bring you food, and clothes!" Vasushena said desperately. "You seem to be injured. It might be difficult for you to hunt."

Bakula's hand relaxed, and the sword point dipped. "Food," he said flatly.

Vasushena nodded. "I promise."

"Look," Bakula said. "Aren't you even curious to know why I was in Hastinapura and why I'm in hiding?"

Vasushena was curious, but he shook his head resolutely. "No," he said, "I don't want to know. You're my teacher, and that's all I need to know."

"You are a strange one." Bakula said, his eyes still intent on Vasushena. "What about your parents? You're old enough to learn the craft and trade of your father. Won't he miss you?"

"He knows I'm not interested in that. He lets me off in the afternoon, and I can come to you then,"

"And make your way back in the evening, in the dark? No. If we're doing this, you've to be here at sunup every day. Get your father to teach you in the afternoon."

"He has duties in the afternoon."

"Not my problem. I'll teach you, but only if you come at sunup. And as you noticed, I'm injured, so the weapons training will have to be more theoretical. I can tell you, not show you."

Vasushena considered. He could tell his father he needed to practice his archery in the morning. His father knew he wasn't interested in learning the Suta trade anyway. He could not pass up this opportunity. Whatever Bakula was, he was knowledgeable, and he was willing to teach him. He might never get a chance to have a proper teacher again.

"All right," he said. "I'll come back at sunup tomorrow."

"Don't forget the food, or clothes," Bakula said, stepping out of his way. "Can you find this place again?"

Vasushena nodded. He didn't tell Bakula about marking the trees. He would have to make the marks deeper if he was to navigate his way early in the morning before sunrise.

"Yes," he replied.
Thirty Two

Bheeshma was standing in his room, eyes closed, hands spread out, head thrown back. Even with his eyes closed, he was aware of everything that went on around him. He could feel the breeze that came in through the balcony, the rustling of the curtains, the flickering of the lamps, the spluttering sound as an insect found its way into the flames. It was not yet dark outside, but the servants had lit the lamps in the room early. He was aware of the chair to his right, the small ornate footstool underneath it adorned with a cushion, the desk next to it, and the scrolls of parchment spread over it. He could see the small cupboard built into the wall, near the desk, where more scrolls were kept. There was a large map of Bharatavarsha on the opposite wall, with a large table near it. There was another map of Hastinapura next to the map of the continent. The doors were closed, and a row of weapons leaned on the wall on the right side of the door. On the left side was a shelf containing armour and helmets. The room was not his living quarters, but his office, and training room. He'd always preferred training with the men in the practice arena, though nowadays he sometimes preferred the privacy of this room.

The breeze shifted, dropped, and for a moment there was a stillness. Bheeshma could feel the clouds massing overhead, he knew that soon thunder would rumble, and lighting streak across the sky. The door opened as an attendant made his way across the room stealthily to close the balcony doors, and all the windows, and pull the curtains closed. The heavy drapes that framed the thin wisps of silk fell across the windows in dark folds, leaving the room in semi darkness. The attendant started lighting the torches fixed to the brackets in the wall and soon, the room was bathed in the golden light from the torches. Finally, he stoked the coals in the pot on the metal stand, added some more wood to it, and lit it. The room was now as brightly lit as day, and even with his eyes closed, Bheeshma could feel the light. The specially designed vents in the room ensured that smoke would escape out, and there were air vents invisible to the eye which ensured that the breeze was circulated into the room, preventing it from becoming too warm from the fires.

The attendant left, just as stealthily as he entered, and Bheeshma opened his eyes as the skies outside opened. The rain did not come down in a patter, it was a torrent and gushed down like a waterfall, and Bheeshma could imagine the palace of Hastinapura becoming drenched in the rain, the water running in rivulets across the streets of the city, the walkways of the garden till finally it went to join the river, the holy Ganga where a twelve year old Devavrata had immersed his mother's ashes, watched by his father and his other mother, Satyavati. Maharaja Santanu had placed his hand on his shoulder that day and said, "She's at peace now, Devavrata."

The sky was clear on that day, but not on the day that his father's ashes had been immersed in the same river. That day, the skies had opened, and a grim faced Bheeshma and his two young brothers had stood in the river, soaked to the skin and in danger of being swept away as they repeated the mantras chanted by the priests. Satyavati had stood at a distance in a pavilion which had kept the rain out, but her eyes were red-rimmed as she had embraced her sons and looked him in the eye and said, "He's at peace now, Devavrata."

Was he? Really? For Bheeshma had seen the sorrow in his father's eyes as he lay dying, the wistful look he gave his heir, Chitrangada, who was only eleven at the time.

"Take care of him, Devavrata," he had told his eldest. "He'll be Maharaja too young, and he'll need your guidance and counsel."

His father had not wanted to die. He had wanted to watch his sons grow up, and he had wanted to see Chitrangada as the Yuvaraja. But fate had other plans, and who was there who could fight her? Strength and will could do only so much, and in the end, Maharaja Santanu had died, leaving his young sons in the hands of his first-born, hoping that he would be the father they had lost as well as their brother.

I tried, Bheeshma thought, I really did, but they were not worthy, either of them. Chitrangada was too quick to anger, and too quick to start a fight while Vichitravirya was indolent and hedonistic.

"Pradhanamantrin Vidura," the softly spoken words from the herald brought him out of his reverie, and he straightened to face his nephew. Vidura looked the same as ever, though Bheeshma's trained eyes could see the fatigue, the dark shadows under his eyes and the tiny wrinkles that had begun to mar that smooth face.

"You sent for me, uncle?" Vidura's voice remained the same, smooth, even, the timbre not varying by a hairsbreadth. It was a pleasant voice, unlike the raspy voice of Pandu and the shrill notes of Dhritarashtra. It struck Bheeshma that Vidura might have made a better Maharaja than either of his brothers, but unfortunately he had no claim on the throne.

He waved Vidura to the chair, choosing to remain standing. Vidura took the chair, relaxing into it and looking quite comfortable.

"What was it about, yesterday?" Bheeshma asked.

"Yesterday?" Vidura looked confused.

"You asked-nay, demanded- that the Maharaja abandon his first-born!"

"Yes. And you were there, you heard my reasons, and you also know that the Rajaguru agreed with me. So, what exactly is it that you want to know?"

"Bad omens? Really?" Bheeshma asked. "Those omens, as you call them, happened – weeks ago."

"Which was presumably the day the Prince had been born," Vidura said. "Just because the sage kept them in quarantine till now does not mean that the princes were born only now."

"So, you had to make a scene at their naming ceremony?"

"I was thinking of Hastinapura's best interests. I don't see why you should harass me for that!"

"You are the Pradhanamantrin! You are not going to serve Hastinapura's best interests by telling the Maharaja to abandon his son!"

"The Maharaja made it absolutely clear that he would not consider it anyway, So, no harm done."

"No harm done? That child is the future Maharaja of Hastinapura. And you've made him sound like some kind of plague. Do you think that tongues are not going to wag over this?"

"It'll die down. It always does," Vidura paused. "Anyway, there's no saying whether Suyodhana will be the next Maharaja, is there? Not if Yudhistira was born first."

"Is that Pandu's son?" Bheeshma asked.

"Yes. I appear to be the only one who have seen Pandu's children."

"And why is that, I wonder." Bheeshma said.

"Because I was given the duty of taking the gifts from Hastinapura?" Vidura gave him a quizzical look.

"You're an intelligent man," Bheeshma said. "I'll not insult your intelligence by dropping hints. I'll be blunt. Are you the father of Pandu's children?"

Vidura stared before he started laughing. "Me? You honestly think that either Pandu or his wife would choose me to father their child? Pandu despises me. And as for his wife- she'd rather kill me than sleep with me. She hates me."

"Well, you've loathed Pandu all your life, and you did blackmail her into choosing him at the Swayamvara, knowing full well that he was impotent."

"Which I did at your command."

"We did what we had to, distasteful as it was." he paused. "Dhritarashtra has changed, hasn't he?"

"You mean, he has developed a backbone. Yes, I'd noticed. The influence of Sakuni, no doubt."

"Why that man can't remain in his own Kingdom, I can never figure out. But his influence is not a good one. Dhritarashtra was ever amenable to suggestions and advice from both of us. Now, he's recalcitrant. Instead of punishing him for insubordination, he had made that guard into a minister. It's unheard of, such acts!"

"Yes, he's no longer a puppet in our hands, I admit."

Bheeshma stared at his nephew. "I don't want him to be a puppet. I just don't want him to take Sakuni's advice in all things instead of ours. Sakuni is an outsider. How can he know what's good for the Kurus? Or for Hastinapura?"

"Perhaps we can get rid of him," Vidura's voice was bland, and Bheeshma shivered.

"No. We cannot depend on Dhritarashtra's leniency should it come to light that we were behind it. Let the prince of Gandhara play adviser. Subala, his father is in failing health. Better to arrange a crisis back home that he can't stay away from."

"All right," Vidura said. "I'll send word to our spies in Gandhara."

Bheeshma nodded. That was one of the very few things he liked about Vidura. He caught on quick.
Thirty Three

Sakuni was pacing the room agitatedly. Dhritarashtra thought of telling him to stop. The sound of the footsteps was irritating, but he kept quiet mainly because he could understand the man's agitation. If he weren't afraid of bumping into furniture, he would be pacing the room too. This was not the familiar contours of his room wherein he could have paced all he wanted without any fear of bumping into anything. This was the guest mansion allotted to Sakuni, and Dhritarashtra had chosen to visit him there because at the moment he had more faith in the guards that Sakuni had outside the room who ensured they were not eavesdropped upon, than in his own. Gandhari was sitting next to him, her hand a soothing presence in his. When he thought of how close he had come to losing her, his fingers tightened on hers. She returned the pressure of his hand and she could feel her smile.

"Stop that pacing, will you?" Gandhari asked. "It's beginning to get on my nerves."

"How can you-? Oh never mind!" Sakuni stopped, sitting on a chair next to his sister. "It must be an infernal nuisance, having to hear things none of might even notice."

"But useful," Gandhari said. "I can detect even the slightest nuances in people's voices. It comes in handy, especially since the maids lie all the time."

"The attendants do too," Dhritarashtra smiled. "But mostly about unimportant things, so we can let it slide."

"And you know Vidura was lying the other day," Sakuni said. "When he said your son- your son-my nephew- would be the destroyer of your race."

"He didn't believe his words any more than we did," Gandhari asserted. "Kripa on the other hand, believed we would be doing the right thing by abandoning Suyodhana."

"Why would Vidura say such a thing?" Sakuni demanded. "He's the Pradhanamantrin for crying out loud. Why would he want to get rid of the future Maharaja?"

"My guess is as good as yours," Dhritarashtra said, trying not to show how perturbed he really was. When Vidura had spoken of the omens, and his own conclusion, he'd been shocked. Of course, he remembered that night a few weeks ago when somehow some animals had made their way into the city, and filled the night with their noises. But to infer that it was the night of Suyodhana's birth, and that it was due to his birth, and it indicated that he would destroy their race was too much. Thing was, none of them knew when exactly Suyodhana was born. The sage Vyasa had left without giving them an exact time or day, though he'd given them detailed horoscopes of all seven princes and the princess. That had been a surprise, Dhritarashtra acknowledged, though not an unpleasant one. Gandhari was over the moon at having a daughter. But seven sons ought to be enough to secure the succession, especially since all of them were as healthy as could be, after the ministrations of the sages.

"I should be getting back to the babies," Gandhari said. "I don't like being away from them for long. The nurses are all good, but- I feel they're safer when I'm with them."

"Don't worry," Sakuni said, his voice reassuring. "They're guarded by the best Gandhara has. Those guards wouldn't allow anything to happen to your children, and those nurses will die before they let anyone cause harm to them."

At one time, Dhritarashtra would have resented the contingent of guards and nurses and serving women that Sakuni had gifted his sister. At one time he would have been angry at the implication that the Kurus could not protect their own princes, but now he was only grateful that Sakuni cared enough to give his own people. Because he had seen how abysmally bad the Kurus' protection was when they had allowed their Maharani to be poisoned, and even now, no one knew how the poison had come into the possession of the man who Vidura said was behind the whole thing. Vidura said he was an assassin, but Dhritarashtra was not convinced. He might be blind, but he was not an unlearned fool. Assassins worked in pairs. Always. And this was only one man. Vidura's best efforts had not produced his partner, and hence they had to conclude that the man had some vendetta against the Kurus.

The sage had not been too forthcoming about the details of the poison either. Which could mean one of two things. Either he didn't know much of the poison, or he knew too much, and decided it was better not to tell them. Dhritarashtra did not know which of the scenarios he found more disturbing. The second one appeared more likely since the sage had tried to pass it off as a miscarriage at first, before Vidura had caught the assassin and had him put to death. Dhritarashtra had not wanted to press the two sages since they had undoubtedly saved both Gandhari and the babies. Sage Vyasa did tell him that Gandhari would be unable to have any more children, and under the circumstances, Dhritarashtra could not but be glad that she'd given birth to more than one child. No one could browbeat or blackmail him to marrying again. Uncle Bheeshma had not been pleased with his decision, nor with the Gandhara maids surrounding the Maharani nor with the guards from Gandhara protecting the future Maharaja of Hastinapura, but Dhritarashtra was more concerned with the safety of his wife and children than with his uncle's feelings. If his uncle had been competent, this would not have been necessary, though he did not tell Bheeshma that.

"I think Vidura's behaviour is very suspicious," Sakuni said. "He was too insistent on getting rid of your son. Why?"

"He hates me. He despises me." Dhritarashtra said wearily.

"I think it's more than that." Sakuni said. "I do have a theory about that."

Dhritarashtra suppressed a sigh. He liked his brother-in-law and he was grateful to him, but he saw a conspiracy everywhere. And he had theories about it all. Most had no basis except in his fancies which appeared extremely logical to him, but to no one else.

"What is your theory?" Gandhari asked before Dhritarashtra could profess his disinterest.

"I heard Pandu's wife had given birth to twins in the forest. If your sons are not there, his son would be the Maharaja, would he not?"

"So?"

"We all know Pandu is not – let's say- able to have children. So, whose children are these?"

"Must be born of Niyoga," Dhritarashtra said, even as Gandhari gasped in comprehension.

"Yes, but who's the real father? I bet It's Vidura. That's why he wanted to get rid of my nephew!"

"You have to be joking," Dhritarashtra said. "Vidura loathes Pandu, and Pandu despises him."

"And Kunti hates him," Gandhari said. "I don't think she could stand to be in the same room with him, much less agree to have his child, you know."

"Then why-?"

"Because," Dhritarashtra said. "Vidura had always had this grudge that he was never considered for the throne."

"Why should he have been?" Sakuni asked, perplexed.

"Well, Niyoga is the law. So, as per law, Pandu and I are the sons of Vichitravirya, but in actual fact, all three of us share the same father. So, he feels that he should also be considered in line for the throne. There's also the fact that our real father can be considered the Kanina son of Maharaja Santanu, and that would actually make Vidura a prince, and eligible to be considered for the throne. Plus, the fact is, he is better qualified than either of us. So, he has a gripe against us. He probably thinks that without my children, he would have a chance at becoming the Maharaja of Hastinapura."

"You know, that actually makes sense," Sakuni said. "And with Pandu in the forest, he probably thinks he has a reasonable chance." he paused. "But I must say that it does worry me."

"He won't try anything now, would he?" Gandhari asked.

"We cannot tell. You know, I think you should allow me to take care of him. And of Pandu and his sons too. There's no saying what Pandu might try to make his son the Maharaja."

"No," Dhritarashtra shook his head. "I'll not be a party to the destruction of my own family! My god! How can you even think that!"

"He only meant that we should be safeguarding our children's inheritance," Gandhari said "And Vidura has already tried to get us to abandon our children."

"He hasn't tried to kill them, has he? He's just – venting- his frustration. And Pandu hasn't done anything to any of us! If anything happens to my brothers or to my nephews, I swear Sakuni, I'll strangle you with my bare hands!"

"Relax," Sakuni said placatingly. "There's no need to get angry. I was just exploring an idea, but if you're not interested, I won't do anything. I give you my word."

Before Dhritarashtra could open his mouth, there was a knock at the door. At Sakuni's softly spoken command to come in, a guard entered.

"Your highness," he addressed Sakuni. "A messenger has come from Gandhara,"

"Send him in," Sakuni said. A man entered the room. He was travel stained and weary, and his voice was shaking as he handed over a sealed scroll to Sakuni.

"A message, from home, your majesty."

Dhritarashtra sucked in a breath, and from the gasp that came from Gandhari, he knew that she had noticed as well. Sakuni was too busy opening the message to notice the way the messenger addressed him. He read the message, and crushed the parchment in his hand.

"It seems I must return to Gandhara," he said, his voice steady, but his hands were trembling. "My father is dead."
Thirty Four

Pandu sat in front of his hut watching his sons. They had taken their first steps a week back, and now it was as if they could not stop exploring every angula of the compound. The dasis were always with them, but at a discreet distance. A few falls or scraped knees were not going to hurt two Kshatriya Princes, and the dasis were there there to ensure nothing more serious happened. Pandu could feel his heart swell with pride as he watched them. Bheema had started walking a day or so earlier than Yudhistira, and even now when Yudhistira was no longer small and sickly, Bheema was still the larger and sturdier child. Yudhistira was also quieter than Bheema. Though their speech was not intelligible as yet, Bheema could not stop chattering away in that language of all children. The sages had assured him that both children were growing and developing as they should, and there was no cause for concern.

Speaking of sages, a frown appeared on Pandu's face as he thought of the group that were his guests now. They were a group of sages dedicated to the study of oushadhis, and when they first came three days ago, Pandu was happy and honoured. It was hard to find vaidyas in the forest, and though most sages had a basic knowledge of medicine, it was good to have expert opinion on his sons' growth and development. But then one of the younger sages had started paying too much attention to Madri, and Pandu had seen the look on his eyes, and it was all he could do to stop himself from hitting the man. Madri was his wife still, and he did not like it that a sage's roving eye should fall on her.

He rose from where he sat. He would go find Madri. He should warn her about the man. She was such an innocent. Of course, the sages would be gone in another week which was why Pandu had done nothing so far. But he could warn his wife. He sometimes wished Madri had been more like Kunti, though he loved her innocence and her complete unawaredness of what the real world was like. Kunti would need no warning against men. She was intelligent enough to know and to steer clear of such men. Just as she had been intelligent enough to agree to Niyoga. Pandu knew Madri would have been horrified had he asked it of her, but Kunti was practical. Besides, Pandu was not certain how he would have liked it to have another man touch Madri. She was his, all his. Kunti had always been her own person, and it had made him uncomfortable even in the early days of their marriage.

The only regret Pandu had was in following the accepted practices to have Vidura father his children. Though brothers, Vidura and he had never seen eye to eye, and their relation was not made easier by the birth of the children. Though the rules of Niyoga explicitly stated that the man who fathered the children had no claim on them, Vidura was ignoring those, visiting so often that Pandu wondered if the Pradhanamantrin no longer had any duties in Hastinapura. He could not like it, and he did not know why Kunti encouraged him. Vidura had been throwing subtle hints his way to make him return to the palace, and claim the throne for Yudhistira, but Pandu was certain that he did not want a life in palace for his son. All the intrigues, spying, and politics was not what he wanted for his children. The only reason he had gone for Niyoga was because he had wanted sons without whom it was impossible to attain peace in the afterlife.

What galled him was the way Kunti agreed with Vidura. She wanted Yudhistira to be the next Maharaja, no matter that neither Pandu nor his sons had any claim on the throne any more since he had abdicated, and even if they did, Pandu knew that Dhritarashtra's sons were born if not early, at least on the same day as his own, making it difficult to determine who was elder. Kunti and Vidura just blithely assumed that if they could prove Yudhistira was elder, all problems could be solved. After all, they argued, Pandu had not abdicated of his own free will, but was forced to, by Bheeshma. Pandu was tired of pointing out to them that it did not matter. Once a Maharaja abdicated, he and his children lost all claims to the throne. But Vidura simply said that all rules could be changed. Nothing was set in stone.

Unthinkingly Pandu's feet had carried him to the river. He wanted to be away from the compound, to be away from people. He made a gesture to disperse the dasas who followed him at a discreet distance. He had always hated being hemmed in with people, be it guards or attendants. It had always made him too conscious of himself. His uncle had told him he should not pay attention to them. Guards were there to keep him safe, and attendants to make him comfortable. To most, they were just part of the furniture, but Pandu was aware of the eyes on him, and he never could relax when he could feel them.

A smothered laugh broke into his thoughts. Madri was standing by the river, next to the young sage whose eyes were roving over her boldly. She did not appear to mind, standing too close to him and smiling at him. Pandu felt fury rise in him. She was his wife, and here she was, flirting on the sly with some stranger! Neither had seen him, the tree by which he was standing hiding him from their view.

"I should go," Her voice was low, and she looked at the sage from under her lashes as she spoke.

"Must you?" His voice was husky. "Do not cast me into darkness again, I beg you. Stay a while."

"You say such pretty things," she was smiling. "Do you say so to all the women you meet?"

"Ah, you are cruel to say so. Are you a woman? I'd have thought you an apsara come to shake my resolve and the peace of my mind."

Pandu cleared his throat loudly as he walked around the tree. Madri took a hurried step away from the sage, guilt evident in every line of her face, but the sage simply bowed.

"Lord Pandu. I was simply giving some company to your Maharani."

Pandu wanted to hit him, but he remembered that this was a sage, and besides Madri was obviously encouraging him. He waited till the sage was out of earshot before he turned his wrathful glance on him.

"How dare you!" he said, angrily. "Have you no shame?"

"Why?" she asked, her colour high, and her voice quivering. "Is it only your first wife who is entitled to have her desires slaked and to have sons? Am I to spend my life in being her dasi?"

Pandu tried to bring his temper under control. If all she wanted was children, he could be reasonable. "The rules of Niyoga are clear. You know that. If you are desirous of being a mother, I shall talk to Vidura and he shall come to you in your next fertile period."

"I'd die before I let your brother touch me!" She snapped. "He revolts me!"

"Niyoga is a duty," he informed her coldly. "What you want does not enter into it. I won't have a child fathered by some unknown sage, and that's final."

"He is blessed by the Aswins!" She said desperately. "Isn't that worth anything?"

"I don't care if he's blessed by Devendra himself!" Pandu yelled. "I won't have it. And you will not meet him again. Is that clear? You are a married woman, and you will stop behaving like a whore!"

"I'm sure you've plenty of experience of how whores behave, though you can't even satisfy your wife!" Tears were streaming down Madri's cheeks as she pushed past him and ran to the compound. Pandu punched the sapling that stood next to him.
Thirty Five

"That's good," Bakula said, watching Vasushena with a keen eye. Vasushena had cleared an area in the forest so he could practice with the weapons. He was a fast learner, and Bakula knew there wasn't much more he could teach him. Everything else was practice and experience, and those were things that none could teach. But would the boy understand that? And even if he did, would he accept it? What if he stopped bringing food? Bakula's ankle was much better now, it was true, but his ankle had been broken and not twisted, and he still was not in a position to leave. He could limp without pain, but without Vasushena's help he might not be walking now. Vasushena had somehow managed to smuggle him back into the city so a physician could set and bind his ankle, and he'd also carried Bakula back to the cave at his insistence. Though Vasushena had insisted that he could keep Bakula hidden in the city, Bakula knew it was nothing but the foolish certainty of a child who had never been in contact with reality. The boy had capitulated only when Bakula insisted that it would be impossible for him to teach him if they were in the city.

This boy would be a skilled warrior someday. Perhaps one of the best they had ever seen. But that would still depend on whether he could find someone to teach him further, and whether he would be allowed to pursue his dream. Bakula was more certain than ever that this boy wasn't the son of a Suta. He was the son of a Kshatriya. Not that it mattered. It was a pity if this boy happened to be a Kshatriya, because he had some good qualities. He kept his word, for one. No Kshatriya was known for honouring their promises, though they always made it seem like they did. Vasushena did bring him food, he hunted for him, and cooked for him, and he also brought him clothes. He said his father was teaching him his hereditary work in the evenings. It probably meant the boy was doing with very little sleep, and yet he was showing no wear. He was always there at sunup. And he never complained about anything. Which was another quality that distinguished him from every other Kshatriya out there. All of them were whiners. Having been born into the ruling class, they behaved as though the world would order itself to suit them, and if it didn't, they would moan and whine. But the world they lived in did order itself to suit the rulers. The Brahmanas liked to think they wielded the real power, but their power depended on the Kshatriyas. Despite what common people imagined, the Kshatriyas were not dependent on the Brahmanas' endorsement. Not any more. It might have been true in the past, but not any more. The Brahmanas knew they had to support the Kshatriyas or what little power they had would be lost too.

Vasushena lowered his sword, and asked. "Is everything all right?"

Bakula nodded. "Yes, you're doing well. I was just thinking."

"If you're tired, we can stop."

"I'm fine. Besides, you need to practice."

"I'd rather practice my archery."

"You're already quite proficient at it, and you've practiced it almost all morning. It's time you had a turn with some of the other weapons."

"But can't you teach me more? What about divine weapons?"

"There's no such thing," he said. "There are weapons of incalculable destructive powers, but none of them are divine in origin. That's just propaganda. They are secrets, the creation and deployment known only to a select few."

"You mean you don't know them."

"No. There are only two men in the entire Bharatavarsha who are privy to their secrets at the moment. One is the legendary Parasurama. The other is your Senapati, Bheeshma, who was taught by Parasurama himself. Neither would give away their secrets. Parasurama have sworn an oath that he would never again impart that knowledge to anyone but a Brahmana."

"But Brahmanas are not warriors, are they?"

"If they want to be, who'll stop them? Rules are applicable only to the lower echelons. Parasurama is a Brahmana, you know."

"Why did he make such an oath?"

"I don't know. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not omniscient."

Vasushena grinned. "But you must still know the rumours."

"Really? You want to listen to gossip?"

"Rumours. And didn't you tell me that all rumours must have a grain of truth somewhere? That they all must have started with the truth?"

"Did I?" Bakula sighed. "Why do you remember all those inconvenient things anyway?"

"So, what does the rumour say?"

"The rumour says that Bheeshma humbled and humiliated Parasurama in battle using the very weapons that he learned from him. So, Parasurama swore he would never again teach a Kshatriya or anyone except a Brahmana since he considers all other classes to be- dishonourable."

"Did Bheeshma really defeat him?"

"Yes. That is verifiable fact. Bheeshma and Parasurama did have an altercation from which Parasurama did not emerge victorious."

"Why did they fight?"

"No one knows. This was all a long time ago, you know. I wasn't even born then, and all I know is the songs that are sung by the bards. I should think that you would be more well versed in such lore than I'm."

"Because I'm a Suta?" Vasushena asked stiffly.

"Your class are the keepers of all the tales. So yes, one would expect you to be conversant with the stories."

"I've never... that is my mother had told me stories, but only of people who died a long time ago. She hasn't told me anything about living people."

"Smart of her. To be honest, it wouldn't be an intelligent move to tell tales about Bheeshma in his own city."

"So... they're just tales? No truth?"

"Like I said, what the bards sing... they might be true in part, but never in whole, and who's to say which parts are true and which aren't."

"And what is this tale that you are so reluctant to tell me?" Vasushena looked at Bakula expectantly. Bakula sighed again. The boy really was too curious for his own good.

"It involves someone whose name It's now forbidden to utter within Hastinapura. The Kasi Princess Amba. The older sister of the two Queen mothers."

"What happened to her?"

"Again, no one knows. Rumours say Bheeshma wronged her and killed her, and that Parasurama fought him for her honour at the behest of her grandfather who had adopted Sanyasa. But, no one knows the truth. And neither Bheeshma nor Parasurama are likely to tell."

"Did Bheeshma really- do all those things?"

"I don't know, but it wouldn't surprise me if it did. Kshatriyas... well... they live by a different set of rules. There's no act so heinous that would be incapable of by a Kshatriya or a Brahmana." Bakula tried to keep bitterness out of his voice. Of course, Pradhanamantrin Vidura was neither a Kshatriya nor a Brahmana, but he was proving to be worthy of belonging to either class. And Bakula knew he had to leave soon. If someone noticed Vasushena coming into the forest and followed him, it would not be long before the news spread. He might not be at full strength or health, but he could limp along fairly well. As long as he was careful, there was no reason for him to stay any longer. He would wait one more week to allow his ankle to heal further, and then he would leave.
Thirty Six

Vasushena was late that day returning home. It wasn't because Bakula held him up. In fact, Bakula had left, though he had not given any indication to Vasushena the previous day. Vasushena had searched for him all morning before returning home despondently. He could not believe that Bakula had left just like that. Vasushena had not told anyone about Bakula. He had lied to his father about why he could not learn how to mend wheels, to drive a chariot and to ride a horse during the mornings. He had starved in order to take food to Bakula, and yet, in the end, the man had left without even telling him. A part of him knew that Bakula had helped him as much as he could, that the man was perhaps not necessary to his continued education, but that was not the point. Bakula had betrayed his trust when he left in secret, without a word. And that was a new experience for Vasushena. He had never come across someone who broke a word so casually. It bothered him. For the first time, he regretted not asking Bakula who he really was. After all, someone had been after him. What if it was the soldiers? What if Bakula was a thief? Or an assassin?

"Where were you?" Atiratha asked, when he reached home. "I've been waiting for you. Have you forgotten that today I don't have to work? We could have spent the entire day learning."

"I'm sorry father," he apologized, not wanting to tell another lie, and yet, not wanting to tell the truth either. "I shall not do it again. We can learn in the morning from tomorrow, if you prefer."

Atiratha looked at his son with troubled eyes. There was something bothering his child. It was very evident to him. But he didn't want to pry. His son was growing up, and he might not appreciate his father wanting to know every detail of his life. Whatever it was, Vasushena would tell him when he was ready. Or he would not tell him at all. Either way, he would not pry.

"Go and have your bath," he said. "Today, we will not be having any lessons. We'll start tomorrow morning."

Vasushena did not even ask why. He simply nodded and made his way to the river. It was still hot, but the river was not still. Though the current was not very strong at their bathing ghat, he could see the ripples on the surface. There was a strong wind blowing. The ghat was deserted, which suited him. He did not want to make small talk or to pretend to be cheerful for his friends. He was not cheerful. And he doubted if anything would make him feel cheerful today.

"You're back," his mother smiled at him as he entered the house, fresh from his bath. "Has your father told you the news yet?"

"What news?"

She ruffled his hair, though he was already taller than her. "You're going to have another brother. Or perhaps a sister." her smile was radiant.

Vasushena stared at her. He had not expected it. A brother or a sister. He grinned. It was the best news ever.

"Does Sangrama know yet?"

Radha shook her head. "I didn't want him to know till I've told you. You're the eldest. And it will be your job to take care of your younger brothers."

"Or sister," Vasushena said, still grinning. He could not stop. He felt as if there was a bubble inside of him, a large bubble filled with laughter and joy. It filled his chest till it hurt, and yet it felt good. He could not remember the last time he had felt like this. Perhaps the day Sangrama was born. He hoped that his new brother would not be as irritating as Sangrama, but his hopes weren't high. But still, he would take care of him or her, just as he took care of Sangrama.

"When will he be born?" he asked. "And what shall we name him?"

"There's time enough for that," Radha laughed. "He won't be born for an ayana yet, maybe longer."

"But we can still have toys made," he said. "I can ask Asmita. His father knows how to make toys made of wood."

"Let's wait till he's born," Radha said. "It's bad luck to have things made for the baby before his birth. We don't want to tempt fate."

"Okay," Vasushena nodded. "But there has to be something we can do which isn't bad luck."

"Of course, there is. You can take care of Sangrama, and you can help me with some of my work if you want. And you can also help your father, so he won't be under too much stress."

"Okay," he said. "But do I have to take care of Sangrama? He's a bit irritating."

"Oh you naughty boy," she laughed, pretending to box his ears. "What sort of big brother are you?"

Vasushena grinned. "The best kind. You know it."

"Then, you go and bring your brother back from the playground, so he can have his bath, and we can all have lunch."

"Must I?" Vasushena asked in a despairing tone.

Radha brandished a ladle and he laughed, and ran out. He made his way to the playground, feeling happy. What did it matter if Bakula left? He had taught him enough. He would practice everyday till he found another teacher. His father could teach him what he had to in the mornings, but the afternoons and evenings were all his, and no one could take them from him. He knew his mother was only partly joking when she said he would need to take care of his brother and help around the house, but even with all that, there should still be enough time to practice. He was feeling that he was indeed fortunate. Whatever or whoever Bakula was, he'd taught him. How many boys in his position would have been fortunate to get a teacher at all? But he had been so fortunate. His father, knowing his real interest did not tell him not to pursue it. Vasushena might be young, but not foolish. He knew that most Sutas would have tried to discourage their sons from such dreams, but not Atiratha. Gratitude welled in Vasushena at the thought of his father. He was fortunate to have parents who not just loved him, but accepted him for what he was, no matter it was different from what they knew or expected. And now, he was going to have another sibling. He was indeed blessed. He could not believe he had spent half the day feeling sorry for himself.
Thirty Seven

The camp where Pandu stayed with his family was neither silent nor still. Maids and attendants moved across the encampment, doing their daily tasks. It was mid afternoon, and the sun shone bright into the area that had been cleared of trees. The window shades of all the huts had been drawn and those of the royal family who were outside sat in the shade. Vidura sat on a tree stump, polished into a stool, and wondered about his next course of action.

It was hard to see Pandu being so stubborn. Vidura wondered if it was possible for him to despise him any more than he already did. He'd always known Pandu was a weakling, not fit to be Maharaja, but he'd never realized just how weak he was. What else was it but weakness that he should not even attempt to give his son his birthright? What else but weakness would cause a man to deprive his son of his rights because he didn't want to create a dissension in the family? What was Pandu so afraid of? What if it created dissension? Did he not know that there were things worth fighting for? What sort of Kshatriya was he? Conflict was not something a Kshatriya should be afraid of.

When the children were born, and Pandu was hesitant, Vidura had hoped it was a temporary phase. He had hoped that in time, Kunti might be able to persuade him. He was wise enough to stay out of it, knowing that any attempt on his part to bring his brother to his senses would only lead him to do the opposite. But the time for such wisdom was past. Yudhistira was turning six the next month, and it was time to start his formal education. What sort of education was he going to get in this forest? But all his representations were of no use. Pandu remained unmoved. He would not lay claim to the throne on behalf of his son. Yudhistira was a gentle and soft spoken child. He was better off in the forest than the palace where he would have to change into mean and cunning.

Vidura wished he could open his brother's eyes. Yudhistira might be soft spoken, but he was already cunning and manipulative, thanks to his mother's training. But even Yudhistira's tricks had not availed them. Vidura knew that Yudhistira wanted to go to Hastinapura. Kunti had told him enough stories to make him want to go. He did not yet know what it meant to be Maharaja, but he was not averse to the idea. Bheema would follow where Yudhistira led. But how could Yudhistira lead, if Pandu would not let him? Vidura knew he would need to take drastic measures. It was true he had other sons from his wife, but none of them had any chance of becoming Maharaja. No matter what happened, neither he nor his sons would ever be considered for the throne. That had been made clear to him over time. But Yudhistira, though born of him, was legally Pandu's son. He could be Maharaja, given the opportunity.

Vidura looked at Pandu where he sat, one boy on each knee. He was smiling. He looked happy and contented. Vidura wondered again what kind of coward he was. Madri sat at a distance, watching him with an angry look on her face. It must kill her that Pandu chose Kunti to bear children and not her. But Vidura had no regrets. He had no desire for Madri. Kunti on the other hand... even now, his desire for her was as strong as ever. He'd hoped that she would not have conceived from the night they spent together, but it was a vain hope. She had conceived which made it unnecessary for him to visit again. He knew that Pandu was not happy with his subsequent visits once the children were born. The rules of Niyoga dictated that he keep his distance, but he had told Pandu that there was nothing to prevent him from taking an interest in the boys since, by law, they were his nephews.

Nephews! Yudhistira looked like an amalgamation of his parents. He had Vidura's brows and chin and his mother's eyes and the high cheekbones were also from her. For the first time, Vidura was glad Pandu and he were brothers, and their features similar enough that Yudhistira's appearance would pass scrutiny by anyone. Bheema, on the other hand looked more like his maternal uncle. Vidura had not met Vasudeva, but he had heard him described. Bheema had the Yadu features, and in a way, that was fortunate, for, someday his brother might need allies, and the Yadus were powerful. Vasudeva's son had slain Kamsa, the Maharaja of the Yadus, and now, the Yadus were governed by a council. It was rumoured that Kamsa's father-in-law, Jarasandha was harassing them, but so far, the Yadus had held their own. Vidura knew he would need to pay attention to what was happening in Mathura.

Someone cleared their throat, and Vidura shaded his eyes as he looked up. Kunti stood there, looking at him with that mixture of contempt and revulsion in her expression. He indicated to the ground next to the stump where he sat.

"No need to loom over me," he said.

Her lips thinned, but she bit back whatever retort had risen to her lips, as she sank down gracefully next to him.

"You talked to him today."

"Since you failed to persuade him, I thought I'd take a hand."

"And how did that go?"

He shrugged. "He's an obstinate man."

"That's one way to put it," she smoothed the front of her angavastra. "He never denies the child anything. I was hoping he would be able to persuade him."

"That didn't happen, obviously."

"I don't think he can be persuaded," Kunti said, and he could hear the resignation in her voice. It angered him, that she would give up so easily.

"So, you're giving up?" he asked, more sharply than he meant to.

"What else is there to do?" she asked bitterly. "I cannot force him, I cannot persuade him, and neither can anyone else. There's nothing to be done."

Vidura was silent. He was not ready to accept defeat so easily. If Pandu could not be persuaded, he would need to be removed. Once he was dead, his widows and children could be returned to Hastinapura without any questions asked. But he would give Pandu one more chance. If he failed to listen once more, he would get rid of Pandu. It wasn't as if anyone was going to mourn him. Vidura did not know how he reached the decision, but having made it, he was determined not to delay further. Yudhistira had already spent enough time in the forest. Vidura would ensure that he did not spend any more time here than was absolutely necessary. He knew well enough not to tell Kunti his decision. It might be good to have her help, but he would manage by himself. If he could poison Gandhari in the palace, Pandu in the forest would be no matter. All he had to do was to ensure that the poison would be undetected and that the death should appear natural. If any foul play were to be suspected, Kunti's mind would immediately jump to him. And whilst he knew that she had no affection for Pandu, she had a strong sense of duty, and he could not be certain she would see things his way.
Thirty Eight

The food was fragrant with spices, and warm, but to Pandu it could have been ash for all the enjoyment he derived out of it. Madri still remained aloof from him, and Kunti and Vidura kept nagging him about taking Yudhistira to Hastinapura to claim the throne as the heir-apparent. His idyllic existence in the forest was turning hellish, and he had no idea how to male things right. Giving into Kunti and Vidura was out of the question, as also giving into Madri's demands. He didn't want his son to grow up in the palace, mired in political intrigue and power games from childhood. And he definitely was not going to allow Madri to give into her base desires on the pretext of Niyoga.

Pandu rose without finishing his food. He drank wine from the goblet kept at his elbow and grimaced. He did not know who had kept wine there. Ever since he came to the forest, he had been avoiding wine. It was probably there in honour of Vidura. A frown gathered on Pandu's brows at the thought of Vidura. What was he doing here? He was the Pradhanamantrin, and as such had duties in Hastinapura. Then why was he coming to the forest every now and then? According to the rules of Niyoga, the biological father had no rights on the child; then why was Vidura so concerned with Yudhistira's future? He scowled. He would tell Vidura to leave. The man was doing no good and only disturbing the peace of the ashram. Once away from his influence, Kunti could be brought to listen to reason.

Madri was standing underneath a tree with Bheema on her hip. He waved his chubby fists in the air, trying to catch hold of the flowers on the lowest branch, but all his efforts did was to cause the flowers to fall in a shower on them both, leading to Bheema shrieking in laughter. There was a time when the sight would have caused Pandu to smile and to join them in their play, but today it only served to irritate him. He had no sympathies for Madri. She was a Kshatriya woman, a wife. She ought to have better control over her desires.

He walked purposefully to the hut where Vidura stayed. Vidura was coming out and on seeing Pandu he stopped.

"Were you coming to see me, brother?" he asked.

"Yes," Pandu said. "And I prefer to have this conversation in private."

Vidura went back inside, with Pandu following him. "You still behave like a Maharaja," Vidura said.

"Be that as it may, I'm no longer a Maharaja, and I've no wish to be anymore. When are you leaving?"

"Leaving?" Vidura frowned.

"As the Pradhanamantrin, surely you have duties back in Hastinapura?" Pandu queried. "Shouldn't you be getting back to them?"

"In short, you're saying that I'm no longer welcome here. Is that it?"

"If you must be crude about it."

"I call it honest!" Vidura was white faced. "You were happy enough to have me here when you needed me to impregnate your wife, and now that her children are born, I'm no longer welcome!"

"Please!" Pandu snorted. "Don't talk as if it was such a chore! You've been sniffing around her from the day I married her. Let's just say we used each other, and we both got something we wanted out of it. I'm grateful, but that doesn't mean you can come and go as you please. Leave, and don't come back. Yudhistira and Bheema are my sons. You've no role here."

"I can still be their uncle."

"Don't you have other nephews at Hastinapura? How bereft they must feel away from the affections of their uncle! Perhaps it's time you went back and fulfilled your duties towards them. Besides, aren't you married now? You have a son too, I hear. Why don't you fulfill your duties to them?"

Vidura looked livid, and Pandu clenched his fists. His time in the forest had not dulled his warrior senses. Vidura too seemed to come to the same realization for he turned away, breathing raggedly.

"All right," he said. "I'll leave, and since you don't want me here, I won't come back." he paused. "How about a ride, brother? It must have been a while since you rode a horse. Let's go for a ride together, and then I'll be gone."

Pandu was amused, but he nodded. What harm would it do, anyway? Once outside the hut, he glanced at the tree under which Madri and Bheema were, only to see Bheema toddling among the flowers, and a watchful dasi next to him. Madri was nowhere to be seen. Pandu strode to her side.

"Where's the Maharani?" he asked grimly.

She pointed to the direction of the river. "She went to have a bath, asking me to look after the young prince till she came back."

Bheema raised his chubby arms and said. "Lift,"

Pandu ruffled his curls. "Later," he said, smiling. He turned towards Vidura. "I'm afraid I don't have time for a ride. Please be gone by the time I'm back,"

He marched off in the direction of the river. He was not angry. After all, Madri might have gone for a bath as the dasi said. But if not... The sages had left, but he could not be certain that the one who so shamelessly flirted with a married woman would not come back. He quickened his pace, and slowed down once the river came into view. Madri was coming out of the water, her wet sari clinging to her like a second skin. Pandu stood still and watched, heart hammering as she undressed, spreading the wet sari to dry on the grassy bank before drying herself and dressing. His mouth was dry, and he was hardly aware of his actions as his limbs carried him forward to where she stood, facing away from him.

"Swami!" she said in surprise as his arms went around her and she twisted herself free, clutching her sari to her. Somehow it made him furious.

"So, you deny me your embraces, don't you? Perhaps you would have welcomed them from that no good sage with whom you were flirting!"

"You... you startled me.." she stammered, but Pandu was too furious to listen as he lunged for her. She leapt away with a startled cry and overbalanced and fell. He was on her in an instant, rage and desire overwhelming his senses.

"Please!" she begged. "You're frightening me!"

He felt a sharp pain on his chest, and suddenly he could not breathe. He pushed himself up, gasping for air as he fell to his knees again. He could hear Madri's voice, but he could not distinguish her words. He remembered the wine, Vidura's words, "let's go for a ride together." His lungs were on fire and he choked. His last thought before his vision went black was, "the bastard!"
Thirty Nine

Madri sat in the darkened hut. The sliver of moonlight that fell through the window illuminated her tear streaked face and white sari. She bent her head to hide it between her drawn up knees. She licked her lips, and wished someone would wake her. For surely this was a nightmare!

A sob pushed past her lips. This was no nightmare. Her husband was dead, and she had been widowed. His death affected her less than her awareness of her status as a widow. As a Rani in Hastinapura, she might have been respected as a widow. Here, in this forest, she was a young widow without children, and an object of pity and scorn.

She didn't think of his death. The horror of those moments when he was on top of her, and then suddenly, she was free and he was gagging, unable to draw breath, and all she could do was watch and scream as he died. She tried not to think of it, or of her relief when she found herself free of his bruising grasp.

The door to the hut opened, and she could see the silhouette of Kunti on the doorway. She was carrying a lit lamp which she placed on the centre of the hut.

"I hope you're happy," she said, a bite to her voice.

Madri looked at her, startled and recoiled from the hatred blazing in the other woman's eyes. She had always known that Kunti disliked her, but she had never realized that she hated her.

"What?..." her voice faltered.

"You caused his death. What did you say to him? Did he catch you with your lover again?" Kunti gave a short, humourless laugh. "Did you think no one noticed how you were batting your eyes at that sage? What happened? Did swami catch you spreading your legs for him?"

"Don't talk like that!" Madri flared up. "I'm not you, and haven't yet spread my legs for another man and pretended I was doing my duty!"

"And you can't really get over that, can you?" Kunti asked, a scornful look in her eyes. "I hope you sleep well tonight knowing that you've caused my sons to be orphans."

Madri stared at her bewildered.

"Sati," Kunti clarified. "I will have to follow him into the pyre."

"I didn't realize the Kurus are so barbaric as to demand that of you," Madri said, her lips curling in disdain.

"It's expected by the people," Kunti snapped, two bright spots of colour on her cheeks. "Not that I expect you to understand." She paused. "It should be you," she said. "You caused his death. You should be the one to accompany him in the pyre. But unfortunately, it has to be me. And my sons... they'll be bereft of both father and mother in one stroke."

Madri was silent as Kunti walked out. She leaned back against the wall, thinking. She could understand Kunti's line of thought. In her place, she too would have thought the same. The children needed their mother, and Madri was childless after all. But Madri was not going to sacrifice herself for Kunti or her children. Life was sweet, even if she was a widow, even if she was childless, even if she was an object of pity. Besides, with Pandu gone and Kunti dead, her life might actually be easier. And she would take care of Kunti's sons so well they would never miss their own mother.

An uneasy thought of the future intruded at this point. Where would she go? Would she be able to stay here? Or would she be required to return to Hastinapura? Hastinapura with Bheeshma who had demanded her hand for his impotent nephew, and Vidura with his lustful eyes and insolent manner. There was also Sakuni with his overly familiar manner that always made her want to wash herself. But going back to Madra was out of the question. Her brother had all but sold her to Bheeshma. He would not welcome her back. Not that she wanted to go back.

She didn't look up as a dasi entered with a glass of milk, and left after setting it down on the floor next to her. Madri raised the glass to her lips and drank the milk. She yawned. She would worry about it all in the morning, after the funeral. There was no need to make any decisions just yet.

Outside the hut, Vidura waited as the dasi approached, removing her veil.

"Well?" he asked.

"She drank the milk," Kunti said. "What is it going to do?"

"It'll make her extremely pliant in the morning when she is being taken to the pyre." Vidura replied. "All you need to do now is to convince the sages here that Madri was so overcome with guilt and grief that she insisted on being a Sati."

Kunti drew a sharp breath. "I don't like this," she said.

"She has to die," Vidura said. "She knows that the boys are not Pandu's. That makes her dangerous."

"Why did you have to kill him?" she asked after a moment. "I could have convinced him."

"No, you couldn't." Vidura said impatiently. "Don't tell me you were in love with him." there was contempt in his tone. "Not that weakling!"

"No," she shook her head. "But I did love him." She sounded sad. "He might have been weak, but that made him need me. I don't expect you to understand."

"Your sons need you too," Vidura said.

"For now," Kunti said. "But not for long."

She walked away, leaving him alone in the dark. He stood there, staring in the direction into which she had gone. That she had realized his part in Pandu's death did not bother him now. She had not given him away. Not that she could have done anything. There was no proof, after all, and once the funeral was over the next day, the only evidence would be burnt to ashes. But he had never expected that Kunti cared for her husband. He was also surprised at the surge of jealousy he felt at her words. She had always made her contempt for him very clear, and it was not likely that his present actions had done anything to change it. But still, it bothered him that he was still affected by her, even though he was a married man with a child of his own back home waiting for him.
Forty

The palace of Hastinapura was impressive at any time, but under the bright light of the sun, it was awe-inspiring. The sheer size of the building was enough to take anyone's breath away, and it was very rarely that a visitor to the palace would not stop at the gates and gape, even if only for an instant. Which made the man who walked briskly up to the palace without sparing a glance either to the building or to the grounds a rarity. But instead of looking askance, the guards stood to attention and bowed deferentially as he passed, murmuring, "Sage Vyasa,"

The Sthapathi came ponderously down the steps to welcome the sage. "Sage Vyasa," he intoned. "Hastinapura is blessed by your presence. The Maharaja is holding court, and I shall have someone conduct you there."

"There's no need for that," the sage said. "I wish to have audience with my mother. Conduct me to her."

The Sthapathi bowed. "As you wish, O great one."

Vyasa was not feeling appreciative of the deference or the delay. He was growing impatient by the minute. But he knew he had to accept the lumbering dignity of the Kurus, as also the pomp and ceremony in which they revelled. So, he submitted with a good grace as his feet were washed and dried, and flower petals strewn for him to walk on, as he was led to the Queen Mother's chambers in a slow parade.

Satyavati rose as the herald announced him. She might be his mother, but he was also the great sage Vyasa, and it behooved her to show respect. He bent down to touch her feet, and she placed her hand on his head, murmuring, "Ayushman Bhavah."

He straightened and allowed her to lead him into the seat arranged for him. It was a wide stool, seven angulas high, and spread with a deer skin. A small footstool was placed near it, and on a small table near it was placed fruits, meat, water and wine. He sat down, and accepted a goblet of water from his mother. She took the fan from the dasi and started fanning him while he drank the water.

"Mother," he said once he had partaken of the refreshments. "I must have private speech with you."

Satyavati clapped her hands twice, and all the dasis exited the room, as also the guards. Mother and son waited till the room was empty and then Satyavati put the fan down and said. "What is it, Krishna?"

The sound of his real name on her lips awoke a fierce longing within him, a longing to abandon his mission here, to just lay his head on her breast and to beg her to be a mother to him at least now, but he ruthlessly pushed that feeling to the back of his mind as he straightened, and fixed her with a piercing glance.

"I bring sad tidings, mother," he said. "Pandu, your grandson is dead, and his wife Madri has chosen to accompany him. Vidura will be back from the forest any day with the news. He has made arrangements for bringing Kunti and her sons to Hastinapura."

"Kunti and her sons!" Satyavati jumped up from her seat in agitation. It amazed him, her vitality even at this age. There were days that he felt that he could not live one more day, and here she was, his mother, putting him to shame. "Those children are not Pandu's!" She said now, anger seeping through. "Did she think that just because she was in the forest, we wouldn't see through her lies? She won't be welcome here, nor her sons!"

"And yet, you will welcome them, mother, for they are your great-grandsons." He spoke quietly but firmly.

She stared at him for a moment, and then she said. "They're Vidura's, I take it."

He nodded. This was another of the things he admired about her. That she did not need things spelled out for her. "And he's my son," he reminded her quietly.

"If Vidura expects that his son shall be made Maharaja over Hastinapura," she began when he interrupted.

"They were born of Niyoga, mother. As such they are Pandu's sons by law."

"Niyoga is not something done in secret!" she snapped. "It has to be done with society's acceptance if the children are to be accepted."

"You can't expect Pandu to be all well versed as you in the rules of Niyoga," he said drily. "But that is not all." he paused, trying to find the words to tell her, to couch his demand as a request and yet to make it clear that she had to accept.

"Well?" she asked.

"It's likely that Vidura shall try to have his son declared as heir-apparent, and Bheeshma may support him if he thought the child was Pandu's. It's equally likely that Dhritarashtra may not give up his son's rights without a struggle. But when all is said and done, Dhritarashtra and Vidura are still brothers, and their sons but children, and It's possible that calamity may be averted and balance maintained if they are left to their own devices." he paused. "But we both know that you won't be able to leave things alone, that you will try to pit them against each other, because you can't help it. And that is why, mother, I think it would be best if you were to leave the palace and adopt Sanyasa as befitting your age and status."

She stared at him in shock, and then burst into laughter. "You are amusing, Krishna," she chortled. "If you think I'll do any such thing. Sanyasa! Do you think I'm insane?"

"It's the Kshatriya way," he said, not concealing his annoyance. "It's not insanity, but accepted practice. Why do you resist time, mother?"

"What I resist is the attempt to get rid of me before I'm ready!" she flared up again. "I accept that Sanyasa is acceptable for Kshatriyas. But I'm not ready for it. Nor will I ever be. So, stop trying to make me change my mind."

"Then you leave me no choice but to reveal to my brother Bheeshma the truth about what happened to his wife, Amba."

The words hung in the air, as did the name, a physical presence so tangible that they could both feel it. Satyavati sat down abruptly, her face pale and her hands clasped so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"You promised me that you would never reveal the truth," she spoke in a whisper, the words stumbling over one another.

"I'd rather incur the sin of breaking my promise than to stand by and watch while my blood turns on itself due to the promptings of my mother," he said, not bothering to conceal his bitterness. "I stood by and watched while you and Bheeshma turned my three sons against one another, and I will not be a mute spectator while history repeats itself. You will welcome Pandu's sons and widow with all warmth and then you will leave for the forest, mother."

She was staring at him with hurt, confusion and accusation in her eyes. He tried not to squirm as he held her gaze. She drew a deep breath.

"As you wish, Krishna. I'm in your power."

He nearly sighed in relief, stopping himself with an effort of will. He kept his tone and expression as smug rather than relieved as he bowed his head. If she saw the relief, she would guess the truth. And if she did, no threat of exposure would remove her from Hastinapura.

Lost in thought, he failed to see the gleam of calculation in her eyes.
Forty One

Bheeshma sat down heavily on his chair, a goblet of wine in his hands. The messenger who stood in front of him fidgeted nervously, his eyes darting around as if to seek an escape route. Had the circumstances been different, Bheeshma might have found it amusing, but as it was, he was feeling irritated.

"Leave!" he snapped. "Or do you expect a reward?"

"No, Senapati," the man said as he fled.

Bheeshma rubbed his hand across his forehead. He had never been subject to any physical ailments, but he could feel his head beginning to ache for the first time that he could remember.

"Pradhanamantrin Vidura is approaching," the herald's voice was doubtful. Bheeshma was about to snap that he did not want to see anyone, but Vidura was already inside his apartment. He scowled.

"What do you want?" he asked, not deigning to rise.

Vidura raised his eyebrows. "Are you so prostrated with grief that you forget common courtesy?"

"I don't see why I should not be blunt with you." Bheeshma said. "We're family, after all, and I'm your uncle."

"Of course," Vidura said. "I just wanted to know if you've met with your brother. I've been requested by the great Sage to meet him in his apartment, and I wished to ascertain if you've any idea what he wants with us."

"He's your father," Bheeshma said. "And no, I've no idea what he wants. I've also been asked to go to him." His scowl deepened.

"Ah." Vidura said. "Now I understand the reasons behind your uncharacteristic loss of control. I thought you liked him."

"My personal feelings have nothing to do with this," Bheeshma said. "It's a time of mourning for us. If the sage wished to convey his condolences, he would have come to us. But he chooses to have us go to him, which means that he has something else to discuss with us. I just wish his visit were timed better."

"Shall I tell him that?" Vidura asked. "I'm on my way to him right now. Perhaps, he is overcome by a bout of filial affection and wishes to mingle his tears with ours."

"Pandu was not his son," Bheeshma didn't even have to think these days for that lie to slide out.

Vidura grimaced. "I believe the claims of blood may be stronger than that of law, especially at a time like this."

Bheeshma directed a glance of pure loathing at his nephew. Necessity might make him consult with and seek Vidura's advice and help, but nothing could induce him to like him. True, there were things he liked about him, and even admire, but the man on the whole repelled him. Yet, he trusted Vidura and his advice more than any one else's. It was a conundrum, one he had no intention of analyzing. He called him nephew, and yet Vidura was not of his blood or that of the Kurus. But he was the son of Krishna Dwaipayana, the great Vyasa who was Bheeshma's step brother, and hence his nephew. Though Dhritarashtra and Pandu were also sired by the same sage, they were by law, the sons of Bheeshma's half brother, the late Maharaja Vichitravirya, and for Bheeshma that was sufficient to accept them as Kurus. But Vidura, no. Ever since Dhritarashtra's coronation, Vidura had become even more obnoxious than normal.

"I'll come with you," Bheeshma said, standing up and placing his half empty goblet of wine on the table. "After all, he did express his wish to meet me too."

"Why not?" Vidura shrugged. "I daresay he'll be glad to see both of us together. After all, we're all family."

Bheeshma controlled himself with an effort, as he preceded Vidura out of the door. He strode forward, not caring if Vidura was following or not. Fortunately, his incipient headache seemed to have vanished. But he still wished the heralds standing at regular intervals throughout the corridor would not shout the news of his arrival so loudly. But he knew Vidura was still following since the heralds shouted his name just as loudly.

The apartment allotted to the sage this time was not large but was as plainly furnished as ever. There was a small stool draped with deerskin with a footstool, a small mat woven from grass and reeds, a jug of water and a lamp. The windows were all without curtains, and the sun shone brightly into the room.

"Brother," sage Vyasa stood up when they entered the room. "Vidura."

They both bent to touch his feet and received the traditional blessing. "Ayushman Bhavah," which made Bheeshma's mouth curl a bit contemptuously. The Kurus were a long-lived line, his father and two brothers the only exceptions. Even his father's brother, the Maharaja Bahlika was still ruling over his mountain Kingdom of Bahlika. They needed no blessings for a long life.

"I'd ask you to sit, but there's only the floor," Vyasa said, smiling apologetically.

Bheeshma sat down on the floor, and Vidura followed suit. Vyasa sat on the floor as well, facing them.

"I wish to extend my condolences for the bereavement you have suffered," Vyasa said, "though that is not the purpose of my visit today. I'm desirous of ensuring that neither Kunti nor her sons will meet with any unkindness here."

"They are part of the Kurus now," Bheeshma said. "And Kunti's sons shall be treated the same as Dhritarashtra's. After all, there is no saying which of them shall be the future Maharaja of Hastinapura."

A small crease appeared between Vyasa's brows. "Suyodhana, the eldest son of Dhritarashtra is the Yuvaraja, is he not? And Dhritarashtra is as good a Maharaja as Pandu, if not better. Then why should you talk as if the successor to the throne is uncertain?"

Bheeshma shrugged. "Pandu was Maharaja before Dhritarashtra, and hence his children have equal rights to the throne. Whoever is eldest of all the Princes should be the one to be Yuvaraja. That is the only way."

"Suyodhana is the eldest," the sage said calmly.

Vidura cleared his throat. "Forgive me if I'm intruding," he said. "But considering Yudhistira was born deep in the forest, and the news of his birth was not immediately conveyed to Hastinapura, we cannot really be certain who, in fact, is the eldest. Besides, no one here knows exactly when Suyodhana was born."

"I do," Vyasa said briefly. "And I assure you that Suyodhana was born before Yudhistira." he looked at Vidura who had given a snort. "I'd suggest that you don't start a struggle for power between Yudhistira and Suyodhana, my son. Allow them to grow up as normal children."

"They are Kuru princes," Bheeshma said dismissively. "Struggle for power is what defines character for them. They are not normal children, and shall never be. But I do not expect you to understand that."

Vyasa inclined his head slightly, but whether it was a gesture of concurrence or resignation was unclear. Bheeshma was desirous of leaving. The hard stone floor was cold against his body and his head had started to throb again.
Forty Two

Sakuni's eyes darted between the faces of his sister and her husband. They both looked troubled. He had come from Gandhara on hearing the news of the former Maharaja's death, intending to commiserate with Dhritarashtra. He had expected to find the man despondent, but he had not expected this charged silence.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Pandu's sons!" Gandhari said, "Or at least, the children whom they claim are Pandu's."

"Why should they make such a claim if there's no truth to it?" Dhritarashtra asked, sounding tired. "Haven't we had this discussion before?"

Up close, the man did look despondent. His hands were curled on the arm rest of the deep-cushioned chair on which he sat and his body was held rigid, as if he was afraid to relax.

"We all know that Kunti would do anything to claim the throne for her sons," Gandhari said, paying no heed to her husband's question. "Is there no way to keep her away?"

"I don't understand," Sakuni said. "I thought that Pandu had abdicated the throne, then how can his sons have any rights on it?"

"By law, they don't," Gandhari said, her lips curling in scorn. "But the Kurus have their own laws, as laid down by the great Bheeshma, and he has decreed that the eldest prince shall be the next Yuvaraja."

"So?" Sakuni was still not seeing where his sister was going with this.

"You know that Pandu's sons are both six, the same age as Suyodhana and his siblings," Dhritarashtra said quietly.

"And they were born in the forest, so how is anyone to prove when they were born? All Kunti needs to do is lie, which she is perfectly capable of doing!" Gandhari's voice throbbed with fury. "And now that Vidura is on her side, it won't be long before Bheeshma follows!"

"Vidura? I thought he didn't like Pandu. And why should Bheeshma listen to Vidura? He loathes the man!" Sakuni was contemptuous.

"Exactly what I'm saying," Dhritarashtra said. "Listen to your brother, Gandhari. He speaks reasonably."

"I know Vidura hated Pandu, but his feelings for Kunti are just the reverse," Gandhari said impatiently. "It used to make me blush, the way my dasis described his glances at her. Now that Pandu is out of the way, he'll do anything to ingratiate himself with her. And for his support, she won't be too loathe to open her legs to him either!"

"Gandhari!" Dhritarashtra raised his hands to his ears, but his exclamation was lost in Sakuni's guffaw of laughter.

"Really, your majesty," Sakuni said. "My sister only speaks the truth. We of Gandhara are like the mountains we hail from, rugged and plain. We know no artifice."

"Perhaps," Dhritarashtra conceded. "But I cannot believe that uncle will champion Kunti's sons just because Vidura might do so. As we both agree, he loathes Vidura."

"He may loathe Vidura, but he respects his opinions nonetheless," Gandhari said.

"She has a point," Sakuni had to concede. "Also, there is the fact that he isn't happy that you're not bending to his will anymore. He'll be looking forward to having someone more- amenable to his guidance on the throne."

"And that won't be Suyodhana," Gandhari said, but proudly. "My son shall be no man's puppet!"

"Which is precisely why Bheeshma won't want him on the throne," Sakuni said. "We've to find a way to keep Kunti's sons from the throne."

"Sakuni, let's not create problems," Dhritarashtra said. "Let Pandu's sons come home first. For all we know, Kunti may have no designs on the throne."

"Like you thought Pandu had no designs on the throne when you were children?" Gandhari asked sharply.

"He didn't," Dhritarashtra said firmly. "That was all uncle's doing. He tried to make us compete with each other for the throne, but we didn't. In the end, he chose Pandu because he believed he was more suitable."

"He chose Pandu because he thought your blindness made you ineligible," She said ruthlessly. "And as you said, he did try to turn the two of you against each other. You think he won't try again? Maybe Kunti's sons don't have any designs on the throne now, but how long before they do, under Bheeshma's wise guidance?"

"There are ways of ensuring that Kunti and her sons never reach Hastinapura," Sakuni said. "I did suggest it once, but you weren't in favour. Haven't circumstances changed now? Your beloved brother is already dead. The sons are probably some forest dweller's, and even if we accept that it was Niyoga, their blood can hardly be at par with that of Suyodhana."

Sakuni could see the indecision on Dhritarashtra's face. The Maharaja was wavering. Then, he set his face and said sternly. "No matter what the circumstances, I shall not be party to killing my brother's family. You're to leave them alone. Uncle had failed once in turning me and Pandu against each other. Perhaps, he'll fail with our children too."

"Optimism is good," Sakuni said. "But-" before he could complete the sentence, a herald entered the room.

"Senapati Bheeshma," he announced, and all three stood up as Bheeshma entered. Sakuni saw Bheeshma's look of distaste as he bowed to the Patriarch. Dhritarashtra and Gandhari both bent down to touch his feet.

"Ayushman Bhavah!" he blessed Dhritarashtra. "Deerghasumangali Bhavah!" he said to Gandhari.

"What is it uncle?" Dhritarashtra asked. "Why have you come to us?"

"Our messengers posted in the outskirts of the city has just brought news that Kunti and her sons accompanied by some sages have reached the outskirts of Hastinapura. We must all go to greet them ad welcome them outside the palace walls."

Sakuni bit back his comment and waited for his brother-in-law to speak. "Of course, uncle," Dhritarashtra said. "It shall be as you say. Must we come now?"

"No, not immediately. Be ready and come when you're sent for. We should make the poor things feel welcome. It's their father's home, after all."

"Of course, uncle," Dhritarashtra murmured.

"I know I needn't tell you, daughter, how to welcome Kunti. She should be made to feel at home."

"I'll do my best," Gandhari said.

Bheeshma beamed at them as he left. Gandhari rounded on her husband. "See? That old man is already favouring Kunti's bastards!"

"Gandhari!" Dhritarashtra exclaimed in shock as Sakuni dissolved in laughter once more.
Forty Three

Vasu was up before the sun, and practising as was his normal routine. He no longer sneaked out of the house in the early hours of dawn to make his way to the forest. His father had found out about his daily archery practice from a thoughtless word dropped by Sangrama, and Vasu had told him that all he wanted was to be a warrior.

"I know it's not what Sutas do," he'd told his father. "But I've no wish to be a charioteer or a bard. I want to be an archer. Please, father."

Atiratha had sighed. "If this is what you truly want, then I won't stand in your way," he had told him. "Promise me only that you'll never break your mother's heart."

He had been indignant. "How can you even ask me that?" He'd demanded. "As if I ever would!"

His father had just smiled sadly, but had said nothing further. But Atiratha had cleared the area behind their house, and fenced it in so Vasu could practice his archery there. The fence was tall enough to keep out prying eyes, and to make sure his arrows didn't go astray. He had also had a proper bow and a quiver of arrows made for him.

"How did you ever manage this?" Vasu had asked, amazed.

Atiratha had smiled, as he put an arm around his shoulders. "Being a royal charioteer has its uses," he had said.

Vasu's mother had not said anything when she found out, but there was a stricken look in her eyes. It had scared him, and he had put his arms around her. "What is it, mother? What has scared you?"

She had shaken her head, wiping her eyes which were now full of tears. "Nothing, my darling. I think..." she had shaken her head again. "Your father always say that nothing can prevent destiny, but I always thought he was wrong," she had bitten her lip, and had turned her face away. "But he was right," she had whispered. "Nothing can avert destiny!"

"You make it sound as if destiny is a disaster," he had said lightly, hugging her close. He was taller than her and broader, and she had felt so frail in his arms.

"It can be," she had said, lifting her head to smile at him and had run her hand through his hair. "If this is your destiny, so be it. Just promise you'll be careful."

"I promise," he had said. "Besides, you know that the chances of a charioteer getting killed in battle is more than that of an archer getting killed."

"I know," she had sighed. "But a Suta bearing arms... It sounds like a challenge to the gods."

He had laughed. "Gods have better things to do than worry about a Suta,"

Vasu thought of those conversations everyday since, whenever he practiced. Somehow, they gave him focus, and fuelled his determination.

"Vasu," his mother was calling him. "Radheya? Where are you?"

He was suddenly aware of the sun, and realized that the time for his practice was over a while ago. He had got better at archery. He had learned to fire an arrow in a trajectory, which was something Bakula had never taught him. He could hit a target with his eyes closed from any angle now.

"I'm coming, mother." he called as he gathered his arrows, loosened his bow string and went to the house. There was a box where he kept his bow and arrows, and a specially made pouch for his bow strings.

"You still haven't had your bath," she said, disapproving. "Go and have it now. Hurry!"

"What's the hurry?" he muttered as he took his clothes and made his way to the river.

"Late today?" Veera asked. He had already finished his bath.

"Yes," Vasu said, winking at him. "Just wait, I'll finish and come quickly."

"Can't. Not today. I've to go. See you later."

"Why is everyone in a hurry today?" Vasu entered the water which was cold, but not bitingly so. There was no one else there, and he had a leisurely swim.

Radha was waiting impatiently, "I thought I told you to hurry," she scolded as she served him breakfast.

"What is the hurry?" he asked, wolfing down his food. The practice and the swim had made him extremely hungry, and his mother was the best cook in the world.

"The Kingdom is in mourning, and we've to be in the streets when the funeral procession comes." she informed him.

"Mourning? Funeral? Who died?"

"Maharaja Pandu." she said, sighing.

"Didn't he leave the throne and go to live in the forest, taking a lot of dasas and dasis from their families? So, why are we mourning his death? Shouldn't we be celebrating?"

"Hush," she said, with a nervous glance around. "Don't let anyone hear you."

"So, will all those dasas and dasis be coming back now?"

She nodded. "Yes. Thank the gods for that. Maharani Kunti and her sons are coming back to the palace, and so there is no need for the dasas and dasis to stay in the forest any longer."

They made it to the streets just in time for the procession. Vasu gazed indifferently at the group of sages walking slowly, accompanied by a woman with two small children holding on to her hands. They were followed by a row of men and women who walked with bowed heads. The sages were all old, and looked quite impassive. The woman walked with her head held high, not acknowledging the glances or flowers thrown her way. The children were nervous, holding on to their mother's hands, and yet staring around curiously. The men and women walked with downcast eyes, yet occasionally one would look up and catching the eye of someone in the crowd, would suppress a smile from breaking out.

Once the procession had gone, the spectators moved around, the women congregating to one side, and the men to another and the children gathering on yet another side. Vasu was in the middle of his friends, and they were all talking of the familiar faces in the procession;, all were excited for their friends who was going to see their mothers or fathers after a long time.

"Vasu," his father called. "Come, son. We've to go home."

His father had an air of excitement about him that he was trying hard to suppress. The last time Vasu had seen this kind of behaviour was when Atiratha had given him his bow and arrows. He bid farewell to his friends and hurried to his father's side.

"What is it father?"

"I've got something for you," Atiratha said, as they walked home. "It's at our house, and I think you'll like it."

Atiratha closed the door, and pulled out something from under the pallet where he slept. Vasu took it with trembling hands. It was an armour, so light and delicately made, and yet he could feel its strength too. It was golden in colour and had an emblem in its middle that resembled the sun.

"Where did you get it?" He asked, his voice hushed.

"I had it made, just for you. The metal is from Anga, and the emblem.. well... I don't know what it is, but I saw it somewhere, and thought you'll like it."

Vasu nodded. "I love it," he said.

Atiratha smiled. "Don't let your mother see it," he warned. "I've to go to the palace now. Hide it."

"Why this emblem?" Vasu asked suddenly. It looked strangely familiar.

"Told you. Saw it somewhere. Besides, all great warriors have their own emblems, so this can be yours."

Vasu hugged his father. "Thank you."

"Hide it before your mother comes back," Atiratha smiled at him as he opened the door and left.

Vasu put it under his own pallet, and stared at the place, frowning. Then he moved to the back of the house, to the small room where they stored their grains and vegetables. In a corner, hidden under stones was a box. Vasu had come upon it accidentally a long time ago. He had wanted to ask his parents about it then, but it had slipped his mind. The sight of the emblem reminded him of something he had seen on the box.

He dragged the box out into the light, and opened its lid, and there, etched on to the lid was the very same emblem. His fingers traced the pattern.

"This can be my emblem," he murmured.

Thus ends the first book of Jaya!.
Glossary of Terms

Angavastra: Cloth used to cover the body either as Dhoti or as Uttariya

Angula: Ancient Indian unit of distance/length, approx 1.763 cm

Anthahpura: The part of the palace which was reserved forthe use of women

Apsara: Celestial dancers and courtesans

Aswins: The deities of medicine.

Ayana: Unit of time in ancient India, period equivalent to 6 months

Ayushman Bhavah: Traditional blessing meaning 'May you live long'

Bharata: The name of an ancient Kuru King, the name of his lineage, the land which he ruled now known as India

Bhrata: Brother

Brahmana: The priestly caste of ancient India

Danda: Ancient Indian unit of distance/length, approx 6 ft

Dasa: A male servant/ slave

Dasi: A female servant/ slave

Deva: Celestial beings who are in charge of natural forces and are worshipped as deities in Hinduism

Devendra: The King of the Devas, the deity of rain and thunder

Devi: Goddess (literal). A respectful form of addressing a woman in ancient India

Deerghasumangali Bhavah: Traditional blessing given to married women meaning, 'May you be a wife for long' or 'May your husband have a long life'

Dharma Yuddha: The code of warfare followed in ancient India

Dig Vijaya: A campaign of conquest to conquer all four directions, i.e the entire world

Gandhara: A Kingdom in ancient India

Ghataka: Assassin

Greeshma: The summer season, one of the six seasons in ancient Indian texts (April to June)

Hastinapura: A Kingdom in ancient India and the name of its capital city

Hemanta: The beginning of winter(October to December)

Itihasa: History (literal), Epic

Jaya: Victory. Original name of Mahabharata

Jyeshta: Elder sister

Kosha: Ancient Indian unit of distance/length, approx 3 to 4 km

Kshatriya: The ruling and warrior caste of ancient India

Kunti: A Kingdom in ancient India. Generic name for the princess of Kunti

Kuru: The name of the ruling dynasty of Hastinapura

Madra: A Kingdom in ancient India

Mahabharata: Great Bharata (Literal). Name of one of the two great epics of ancient India, dealing with the story of the Bharata clan, and the longest of all epics with over 100,000 verses.

Mahamatya: Prime Minister

Maharaja: Great King

Maharani: Chief Queen

Nayaka: Leader (literal). Captain of the guards

Niyoga: Ancient Indian practice by which a widow or a woman whose husband is unable to have children is impregnated by the husband's brother or a suitable Brahmana

Oushadhi: Medicine

Panchala: A Kingdom of ancient India, bordering Hastinapura.

Pathikavasa: Inn

Pradhanamantrin: Prime Minister

Prasada: An edible offering given at temples that is consumed by devotees

Rajaguru: The Royal Teacher

Rajakumari: Princess

Rajan: King

Rajasabha: The assembly / place where King holds court

Rajayakshma: Consumption

Rani: Queen

Rathi: A warrior who fights from a chariot and is capable of attacking a 1000 warriors simultaneously.

Rudra: Another name of Lord Siva, the destroyer in Hindu religion

Rudraksha: A seed of the Elaeocarpus ganitrus roxb tree used as prayer beads by Hindus, especially in Saivism

Sabha: Assembly/ Place of meeting

Sanyasa: The fourth stage of a man's life when he seeks salvation through meditation and renunciation, the other three being Brahmacharya (student celibate), Garhasthya (Householder) and Vanaprastha (Forest dweller)

Sati: A chaste woman/ the ancient Indian practice of burning widows in the funeral pyre of the husband

Senapati: General

Sharad: Autumn (August to October)

Sisira: Deep winter (December to February)

Sthapathi: A royal official in charge of the Royal family

Sudra: The lowest caste of ancient India, engaged in menial jobs

Sutas: A mixed caste in ancient India who are either bards or charioteers, born from the union between Brahmana women and a Kshatriya men

Swami: Lord (literal). A respectful form of addressing one's husband in ancient India

Swargaloka: The celestial realm where the Devas dwell

Swayamvara: A self choice ceremony in which a princess chooses her husband from amongst the assembled Kings and Princes

Thali: The ceremonial round plate on which lit lamp, rice, flowers and vermillion are placed for welcoming guests in ancient India

Uttariya: An upper garment used to cover the torso

Vaidya: Physician who follows the Ayurvedic system of medicine

Vaisyas: The merchant and trading caste of ancient India

Varsha: The rainy season (June to August)

Vasanta: Spring season (February to April)

Yojana: Ancient Indian unit of distance/length, approx 12 to 15 km

Yogadandu: A cleft stick used by sages as a meditation stick

Yuvaraja: Heir-apparent to a kingdom
About the Author

A banker by profession and a writer by passion, Geetha Krishnan is a native of Thiruvananthapuram, the capital city of Kerala, the southernmost state of India. Married, with two children aged 12 and 15, she is presently working in Senior Management of one of the foremost Banks in India.

She had been interested in Hindu mythology from an early age and had started writing from childhood. She also writes poetry in her spare time and has self-published a volume of poetry titled The End of the Rainbow. She has to her name various works like Karna: A Collection of Tales, a collection of stories about Karna; Dharmasamsthapanarthaya: The Tale of a God Fettered, the story of Lord Krishna told from a first person POV; Ayana: the Journey, a retelling of the Ramayana from various POVs; The Mahabharata: A Book of Tales, a collection of the author's own stories based on the Mahabharata; Into the Light, a book of plays and poems on the Mahabharata; A Story Lost in Time, a story about Karna and Draupadi; With One Swift Stroke, a work about Karna; The Mansion, A Forgotten Melody; The Lost Race and Never a Good Time.

The author may be contacted at geetha.krishnan75@gmail.com and is available on twitter @ormakal.

Previews and excerpts from the author's works may also be found at https://oflifeandmyths.wordpress.com and https://reflections-rari.blogspot.com
