Epic Retold: The Mahabharata in Tweets by Chindu Sreedharan Read Free Book Online

wooden bird swirls.
    I touch Arjuna’s knee and point to the far corner. There, on a podium under a silk covering lies what is unmistakably a great bow.
    He smiles tersely. It is clear what the contest is: shoot down the tiny bird, swirling high, with an arrow from the great bow.
    I look around the hall. Opposite us sit hundreds of royals, some old enough to be grandfathers, all come for the young daughter of Drupada.
    Idly, I scan the crowd. The kings of Chedi and Kalinga sit together. I see also the prince of Vidarbha.
    Then my eyes settle on a big group.
    The Kauravas are as raucous as ever. They have come in full force. Duryodhana sits at their head, haughtily surveying the competition.
    Next to him I notice Dushasana and Karna. All my enemies in one camp. If only I were armed!
    A sudden hush descends upon the crowd. Drupada is rushing to welcome two men who have just entered. The old king embraces them warmly.
    ‘Krishna!’ the brahmins around me whisper. ‘The Yadavas are here!’
    The man they point to is slender, dark-skinned, with a peacock feather thrust carelessly into his long, black hair. He is smiling.
    I recognize the powerfully built man with greying hair next to Krishna. Balarama has aged since I last saw him.
    Drupada ushers them in most respectfully, but not towards the suitors. Instead, the king leads them to the area reserved for dignitaries.
    As Krishna takes his seat, I see him turn and survey the crowd casually. Does his gaze linger a trifle too long where Arjuna and I sit?
    All eyes turn as an inner door opens to reveal a handsome youth. Prince Drishtadyumna has grown into a fine young man indeed.
    When Drishtadyumna strides forward, I see the girl behind him. Around me the spectators gasp, then fall silent.
    ‘Lord,’ I hear Arjuna murmur. ‘She is more beautiful than I imagined!’
    Draupadi stands there for a moment, regal in red silk, a golden garland in her hands. Mesmerized, I watch the princess.
    She walks in proudly; head high, a half-smile on her lips. Her blue eyes survey the suitors boldly, mischievously.
    Drishtadyumna strides to the dais and removes the silk covering. The great bow beneath is of some dull metal, at least seven feet long.
    The prince explains the contest. The challenge is to string the bow and bring down the wooden bird swirling high up—with one shot.
    The first to try is the king of Kalinga. It soon becomes obvious the challenge is as much the bow as the target itself.
    It is with great effort that the middle-aged king wrestles the bow upright. Perspiration shines on his brow as he pauses for breath.
    The bow wriggles in his hold when he attempts to string it. Caught unawares, the king staggers. Falls. The bow crashes down on him.
    I look at Arjuna and see the same realization on his face: the bow has been constructed in a manner that deliberately upsets its balance.
    The next contestants prove me right. One by one they try, they fail. Duryodhana lifts the bow only to his waist before admitting defeat.
    After a long line of defeats, just as I think Arjuna should try his luck, I hear the announcer cry out: ‘Karna, the king of Anga!’
    He is my bitter enemy, but I cannot help but admire the way Karna approaches the challenge. If he is nervous, I do not see it.
    His arm and shoulders tense as he lifts the bow. But no stress shows on his face. Then, in one fluid motion, he strings it.
    Accepting the arrow an attendant offers, Karna slowly angles the bow. Silence smothers the hall.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I see Draupadi whispering urgently to her twin. Drishtadyumna steps forward.
    ‘Stop!’
    As all eyes turn to him, Drishtadyumna addresses Karna. ‘This contest is for kshatriyas only, king.’
    Karna’s eyes flash fire. The arrow he had ready is now pointing at the prince’s chest. Without losing equanimity, Drishtadyumna says:
    ‘My sister will not accept anyone of lower caste. I must ask you not to continue.’
    Karna’s face is no longer impassive.