Epic Retold: The Mahabharata in Tweets by Chindu Sreedharan Page B
Authors: Chindu Sreedharan
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escape my hold. Wrapping my free arm around his chest, I half-turn, throwing him to the ground.
The forester crashes face down. As he lies stunned, I grab his hair and pull his head back.
All that remains now is to deliver the killing blow to his exposed neck.
Around me, the pilgrims are shouting louder. From the corner of my eye, I see Draupadi’s face. No fear there now. Only excitement.
I roar as I raise my clenched fist.
‘Kill him!’ I hear Yudhistira yell. ‘He who has dishonoured Draupadi must die!’
A sudden wave of revulsion engulfs me.
My elder brother had thought nothing of Draupadi’s honour when he pledged her for another throw of dice.
He had looked away when Dushasana dragged her half-dressed into the royal assemblage, then attempted to disrobe her.
The king had not ordered a kill then. Yet, when a forester who knows no better touches Draupadi, he wants revenge.
I lower my arm. I do not move as the forester gets up. Looking fearfully at me, he backs away. Then he turns, runs into the woods.
Everyone crowds around me. I touch my ribs gingerly. Sahadeva attempts to clean my face, where the forester has scratched a deep gash.
The pilgrims are upset over his release. His name is Jata, someone tells me, and this is not the first time he has attacked the hermitage.
Someone else expresses fear that Jata will return with more men from the forest. He could burn down the hermitage while we slept!
As I remain silent succumbing to Sahadeva’s ministrations, Draupadi walks across. Gentle fingertips explore the bruise on my flank.
But her words defy the butterfly touch.
‘First Kirmeeran, now Jata!’ she murmurs. ‘Killing foresters is hard for you now. Why is it that you value them over us, Bhima?’
Angrily, I turn away. Enough of these reprimands! Pushing through the crowd of pilgrims, I head for my hut.
As I walk past, I hear Yudhistira say, ‘Here comes another of the same blood. God knows what he will become when he grows up!’
I turn around. Ghatotkacha has entered the clearing with a few men. Sahadeva is telling him about Jata’s attack on the camp.
Ghatotkacha says, ‘I know Jata. He is not one of us. He is of the Asura clan.’
‘Tribals are all the same,’ Yudhistira mutters, walking away. ‘They kill and plunder and steal women when they can!’
Anger blazes in Ghatotkacha’s eyes. He makes as if to say something, but decides against it.
Then, without even his customary obeisance to me, my son turns on his heel and disappears the way he came.
The next day, at noon, Ghatotkacha returns with his men. They seem set for a long journey.
‘Our business here is finished,’ he says, standing before me. ‘We return today to our land.’
When I get up to embrace him, he bows respectfully and places a large basket at my feet.
‘For the king,’ he says. Then, without acknowledging Yudhistira, Ghatotkacha collects his men and walks away.
‘What is it?’ Yudhistira asks, uncertain. He opens the basket and recoils in horror.
In it rests Jata’s severed head, the neck still wet with blood.
NOT MINE
EPISODE
21
TWEETS
50
‘Arjuna is back!’
Draupadi is smiling. I have not seen such animation on her face in a while.
Months have flown by since the killing of Jata, months of patient waiting for Arjuna to arrive at Gandhamadana.
In those months, Yudhistira’s year as Draupadi’s husband has ended. Tonight, she moves into my hut. It is my turn.
‘Such a relief,’ Draupadi is saying. ‘Now we can sleep without fearing foresters!’
Ignoring her taunt, I rush to Yudhistira’s hut. Inside, Arjuna is seated with my elder brother. Nakula and Sahadeva are also present.
Arjuna jumps up to greet me. I pull him into a warm hug. Then, holding him at arm’s length, I look at my younger brother.
The years of travel have done him good. He is darker than ever, burnt almost black by the sun. I notice grey in his unkempt beard.
‘I have much to tell you,’ Arjuna says,
The forester crashes face down. As he lies stunned, I grab his hair and pull his head back.
All that remains now is to deliver the killing blow to his exposed neck.
Around me, the pilgrims are shouting louder. From the corner of my eye, I see Draupadi’s face. No fear there now. Only excitement.
I roar as I raise my clenched fist.
‘Kill him!’ I hear Yudhistira yell. ‘He who has dishonoured Draupadi must die!’
A sudden wave of revulsion engulfs me.
My elder brother had thought nothing of Draupadi’s honour when he pledged her for another throw of dice.
He had looked away when Dushasana dragged her half-dressed into the royal assemblage, then attempted to disrobe her.
The king had not ordered a kill then. Yet, when a forester who knows no better touches Draupadi, he wants revenge.
I lower my arm. I do not move as the forester gets up. Looking fearfully at me, he backs away. Then he turns, runs into the woods.
Everyone crowds around me. I touch my ribs gingerly. Sahadeva attempts to clean my face, where the forester has scratched a deep gash.
The pilgrims are upset over his release. His name is Jata, someone tells me, and this is not the first time he has attacked the hermitage.
Someone else expresses fear that Jata will return with more men from the forest. He could burn down the hermitage while we slept!
As I remain silent succumbing to Sahadeva’s ministrations, Draupadi walks across. Gentle fingertips explore the bruise on my flank.
But her words defy the butterfly touch.
‘First Kirmeeran, now Jata!’ she murmurs. ‘Killing foresters is hard for you now. Why is it that you value them over us, Bhima?’
Angrily, I turn away. Enough of these reprimands! Pushing through the crowd of pilgrims, I head for my hut.
As I walk past, I hear Yudhistira say, ‘Here comes another of the same blood. God knows what he will become when he grows up!’
I turn around. Ghatotkacha has entered the clearing with a few men. Sahadeva is telling him about Jata’s attack on the camp.
Ghatotkacha says, ‘I know Jata. He is not one of us. He is of the Asura clan.’
‘Tribals are all the same,’ Yudhistira mutters, walking away. ‘They kill and plunder and steal women when they can!’
Anger blazes in Ghatotkacha’s eyes. He makes as if to say something, but decides against it.
Then, without even his customary obeisance to me, my son turns on his heel and disappears the way he came.
The next day, at noon, Ghatotkacha returns with his men. They seem set for a long journey.
‘Our business here is finished,’ he says, standing before me. ‘We return today to our land.’
When I get up to embrace him, he bows respectfully and places a large basket at my feet.
‘For the king,’ he says. Then, without acknowledging Yudhistira, Ghatotkacha collects his men and walks away.
‘What is it?’ Yudhistira asks, uncertain. He opens the basket and recoils in horror.
In it rests Jata’s severed head, the neck still wet with blood.
NOT MINE
EPISODE
21
TWEETS
50
‘Arjuna is back!’
Draupadi is smiling. I have not seen such animation on her face in a while.
Months have flown by since the killing of Jata, months of patient waiting for Arjuna to arrive at Gandhamadana.
In those months, Yudhistira’s year as Draupadi’s husband has ended. Tonight, she moves into my hut. It is my turn.
‘Such a relief,’ Draupadi is saying. ‘Now we can sleep without fearing foresters!’
Ignoring her taunt, I rush to Yudhistira’s hut. Inside, Arjuna is seated with my elder brother. Nakula and Sahadeva are also present.
Arjuna jumps up to greet me. I pull him into a warm hug. Then, holding him at arm’s length, I look at my younger brother.
The years of travel have done him good. He is darker than ever, burnt almost black by the sun. I notice grey in his unkempt beard.
‘I have much to tell you,’ Arjuna says,
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