Mukunda Rao - Shambuka Rama: three tales retold

SHAMBUKA RAMA

Three Tales Retold

MUKUNDA RAO

E XHAUSTED THEY LAY FLAT on the ground, breathing heavily, filling their lungs with the fresh mountain air. Kunti breathed a sigh of relief and thanked God for blessing her with a son like Bheema. Arjuna smiled tiredly, thinking how weak he was in body compared to Bheema, who stood on a nearby rock, like a colossus under the full moon, gazing into space. The sky had turned red, lit up by the flames erupting from the house they had just escaped from. He let out a cry of rage and swore to the heavens, while the Ganga flowed by serenely, a disinterested witness to the pains and joys of human life over the ages.

Bheema, said Yudhishthira, without you, we would have been dead by now.

Bheema turned and replied angrily. Brother Yudhishthira, you forget the miner. If he had not dug the tunnel in time for us, we would have been roasted alive by now.

How true! exclaimed Kunti. He might be a lowborn miner but he was truly their saviour. Yudhishthira, Kunti continued, you must never forget this man. When you become the king you must find him, thank him and honour him properly.

Yes, Mother. Yudhishthira agreed, and then he was struck by pangs of guilt, thinking of Purochana and the tribal family they had left behind to die in the fire at the House of Lac. The Pandavas had got them drunk and let them perish in the fire, while they made their escape. The charred bodies of the tribal woman and her five sons would be mistaken for the Pandavas. This is how they decided to save themselves when they came to know of Duryodhanas plot to kill them.

This plan, Yudhishthira suddenly realized with horror, was as wicked as Duryodhanas evil plot to exterminate them. A fearful shudder shook his body as the flames leapt to the skies in a maddening frenzy. Can adharma be annulled by another act of adharma? Is it better to suffer adharma or to fight it? His head grew hot with doubt and tears filled his eyes, like an ancient grief unable to wash itself clean. He would carry this grief, this act of adharma like a wound concealed under his clothing, only to add many more to it as time went by. And these wounds would destroy his peace, his centre.

Yudhishthira heard a sound and turned to see a figure emerge from behind a tree. A man approached him with long strides and said, Ah, you must be Yudhishthira, the man of dharma; my pranam to you. Im the boatman sent by master Vidura to ferry you all across the Ganga. Then, going up to Bheema, he exclaimed, You must be Bheema, the great fighter! Finally, he fell at Kuntis feet. I know you are Mother Kunti. Bless me, Mother, he prayed, bless me with five sons such as yours.

What is your name? Kunti asked.

Im a boatman. Im a child of Ganga.

But you do have a name, dont you? Arjuna said.

Ah, you must be the handsome Arjuna, the greatest archer in the world. Yes, sir, Im Gangaputra. Come now, let me take you all to safety. Mother Ganga is sleeping; come, lets not disturb her.

The boat was large enough for the Pandavas. Kunti sat in the middle with her sons around her. The boatman sat at one end, rowing the boat gently. He smiled often and one could not say what he was thinking. The river murmured, it seemed in approval, and the full moon smiled gaily. The boatman said, It is indeed my great fortune to guide the great Pandavas to safety. Im blessed.

My dear brother, Yudhishthira said, we are indebted to you. We will never forget your timely help.

Caressed by the river breeze, while the others tried to rest and find their equilibrium after their recent experience, Bheema continued to seethe with anger. The boatman chuckled and began to sing:

Take us, O boat, take us

to the distant shore,

take us home.

Fly, O boat, fly

like the garuda without ado,

fly us to our heavenly home

Bheema was annoyed by the boatmans cheerful mood. The scene around them was so serene but he could not reach that serenity. He could have simply stretched his hand and caressed the purling river, leant back and watched the moon playing hide-and-seek with the clouds, allowed the breeze to wash over him, and given himself up to the song. But he sat stiff, staring at nothing in particular. Why? Why was he always on edge, always agitated over something or the other? Couldnt he ever relax?

Over the last few years, something terrible had been happening to him, something that was turning him into a wrathful, revengeful demon. The fifteen years of life in the Himalayan valley of Satashringa had been one of pure joy and harmony. As a child of nature, one with the cosmos, he had known no conflict, no hatred, no desire for power. But their coming to the city of Hastinapura had turned everything topsy-turvy, and their minds had become unhinged with the knowledge that they were princes who had a claim to the throne of Hastinapura.

There was no going back now; still, deep in his heart, Bheema remained a child of the forest, and he would never be entirely at peace with himself and the world as a prince. Whenever he thought of the Kauravas, and saw Duryodhanas face in his mind, he felt he would go mad with rage. He was only in his twenties. How would he be in another twenty years? What kind of a future awaited him? Karma was deceptive. He must grow to be more cunning to cheat his karma if he wanted to reach the shore of happiness. He looked back and saw the dying flames on the other shore. Once again, his body convulsed with anger.

The brothers awoke just as the boat reached the shore. The boatman said, Good, you rested for a while and recovered your strength. But your brother Bheema kept awake like a god who needs neither rest nor sleep to keep him alive.

The brothers did not respond. They knew.

Gangaputra took them home. His wife, dark and beautiful, was all smiles and warmly affectionate, and offered the guests a meal of rice gruel and river fish cooked in coconut milk. The boatmans six-year-old son, stout and handsome, talked continuously and was full of sharp questions. The Pandavas were hugely entertained. Even Bheema who, just a short while ago, had been growling like an incarcerated lion, roared with laughter at the little fellows antics and amusing queries. At that moment, it seemed to Bheema that he was reliving his childhood days. The boy also enjoyed the jocund company of the extraordinary guests, and was fascinated by Bheemas great physique. When he wanted to know how he could possibly develop such a prodigious body, Arjuna suggested playfully, Eat like a rakshasa. Thus, the Pandavas forgot their fears and distress and spent the night in a jovial mood.

They left in a hurry early the next morning. Duryodhanas spies were everywhere. They did not want their evil cousin to know that the bodies in the House of Lac were not that of the Pandavas. They had to go incognito for sometime, plan things carefully and gather support before making any attempt to regain their right to the throne. They travelled the entire morning and, at noon, stopped by a lake to refresh themselves with a bath and a meal of fruits. Then they decided to rest awhile.

As they lay down under the shade of a great tree, Bheema, who had kept mum throughout the journey, suddenly exploded in anger: This is shameful, running away like cowards. No, I cant take this any more; Im going back to Hastinapura. I cant rest until I squeeze the life out of Duryodhana and smash the head of his blind father. I wont take this betrayal lying down.