Geetha Krishnan's Blog, page 19

Chapter 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 when he had 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 queen 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. The truth is, the former King was so enamoured of Satyavati, that he agreed to make her son the King and ordered Bheeshma to honour that promise. Somehow, it all got twisted to a vow of celibacy, probably because he never got married. Not that the queen would have permitted him. She was just as determined as her father to see her son as King 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 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 queen 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 lay 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.

Chapter 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 Kings 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 Kings 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, Kings needed charioteers more than story tellers.

The King and his brother-in-law were both angry that day. The Senapati Bheeshma had been grim, and the Pradhanamantrin Vidura forbidding. The Queen mothers who visited various temples, had all been worried. The Queen 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 backyard. There was a large tree there, and underneath it was buried 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 a strange emblem on it. That emblem was probably the only link his son had to his real identity. The inside of the box 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 too 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.

Chapter 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 King to visit. Gandhari had given birth to eight babies, the sage had told them. The strain of the pregnancy was what caused the queen to nearly miscarry. The sage’s timely intervention had saved the children. The King 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 queen’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 were not allowed to go to their houses since Gandhari’s collapse. Their families were informed that they were needed by the queen. That information was given at Sakuni’s insistence. The Kings 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 queen 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 queen 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 King is learning to have faith in himself.” The sage said. “And as for the queen’s blindfold, I think that it is 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 proferred 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 have 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 is 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.

Chapter 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 vomit. 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 was 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 king. But then, Pandu literally meant the Pale One, and he had been a King too. The Kurus had odd ways of naming their heir-apparents.

“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 was 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 King once, and I am the Prime Minister, 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 queen 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 queen- that is dangerous Vidura.”

“If queen Gandhari were to give birth before your beautiful wife here, then your son is never going to be a King. 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 King.”

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. 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.

Chapter 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 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 hails tones 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.

Chapter 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 queen 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 queen 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 King with any news whilst the Queen was still in danger. That made it all the more imperative for him to talk to Vidura.

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 cowdung, 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.

Chapter Twenty Two

Vidura was walking down the corridors, frowning. The events of the previous week still fresh in his mind. Queen 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 King nor the queen mothers had been allowed to even see the queen. The handmaids were more scared of the sage’s curse than the king’s punishment and hence no one knew what was going on with the queen. Even the most efficient spies of Vidura were unable to get past the queen’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 King, 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 are 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 have 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 Queen.”

“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 King, but in fact the King 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 was bothered to look for them because everyone had eyes only for what was happening to the Queen. The man who had concocted the special potion that was being added to the queen’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 King 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 have 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 King’s ear and enjoyed his confidence. The only relief was that he might not make Hastinapura his permanant 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.

Chapter Twenty One

Queen 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 King and the queen mothers as well as the patriarch Bheeshma were worried about her health, but the queen 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 King needed more than one wife. Dhritarashtra had tried to object, but had been over ruled. 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 King wed again, that position was all she had.

“Maharani,” the maid who was standing beside her brought her out of her reverie. “It is 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 queen, 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 queen 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 queen 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 King 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 King.”

The guard swallowed, but nodded. He went outside, closing the door behind him, and gave orders to one of his men to inform the King 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 King and the Senapati.

“What happened?” the King 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 Prime Minister 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 King exclaimed angrily.

“I’m sorry, Rajan.” the guard said stoutly. “You may execute me, but I think the queen’s life and those of the royal heir is more important than your anxiety.”

“He has a point,” It was Sakuni, the prince of Gandhara and the queen’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 pathikavas just outside the temple grounds. Please requisition it for the use of the King and his entourage. Perhaps the Prime Minister would need to go with, to pull rank.”

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

The Prime Minister and the Sthapathi went outside, and the King 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 Prime Minister.

Chapter 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 is 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 queen Gandhari is already pregnant. Even if you conceive a son, he will not be King.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” she said. “It isn’t just my son, you know. It is 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 King or grand uncle start 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.

Chapter 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 princes. 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 queen miscarried.”

“And now, she’s pregnant again, isn’t she? Within months too. One would think the King 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.”

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 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.