The Thirteenth Day by Aditya Iyengar

Author:Aditya Iyengar [Iyengar, Aditya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rupa Publications
Published: 2015-05-31T18:30:00+00:00

ABHIMANYU

Father waited patiently outside my tent till my servant informed me of his presence. He didn’t need to, of course, but Father wouldn’t enter any man’s tent without prior permission. I went out to greet him, and for the hundredth time, scolded him mildly for not treating my tent as his own.

He came straight to the point.

‘Shikhandi tells me you fought well today.’

‘Killed a prince or two, defeated the king of the Sindhus and rattled Uncle Shalya. Nothing great.’

‘Weren’t you supposed to be in the reserves?’ he said softly.

Father never raised his voice to discipline me, unlike Mother. But to mend fences with him was also a great deal harder.

He continued, ‘You know, in any other army, you would have been executed.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I expected more from you. It’s been eleven days now. Tomorrow, you will apologize to the council. If they accept, you will fight and stay put where you’re told, if you’re allowed to fight at all.’

He couldn’t be serious. I could do more damage to the Kauravas single-handedly than most of the council put together. They weren’t actually going to send me home in the middle of the battle? I couldn’t tell if he was bluffing but I didn’t want to take a chance.

‘I’m sorry if I offended anyone. I will apologize.’

That relieved him. He smiled awkwardly, ‘So, I heard you killed a nobleman from the north today.’

‘I beat the king of Sindhu too.’

‘Jayadratha?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Shikhandi had good things to say. So did Virata.’

‘That’s kind of them.’

‘You’ve just begun to create a reputation. To see it come apart, because you couldn’t hold your bow in the reserves for one day, would be unfortunate. This is not an exercise for fame like the Ashvamedha. Dying will not win you glory. Surviving will give us a kingdom.’

That was all. Father kept his speeches short. Imparting wisdom embarrassed him. After looking at me awkwardly for a few moments, he went away. Typical Father, complimenting me with the words of others.

We never had a chance to get close. For most of the first eight years he was away on some war or the other and then he disappeared for thirteen years on exile.

Mother took complete control of my education. When I informed her that I wanted to take up the bow and be a warrior just like my father, she couldn’t have been happier.

That is when I began practising. ‘Drilling’ is closer to the truth. I practised from dawn till late evening when the fireflies came out. ‘Extra time in training won’t kill you, and it won’t get you killed either’ was what Mother firmly told anyone who thought that I was spending too much time at the akhara.

It seemed I was eating every waking moment of the day. Almonds in the morning with watermelons or bananas or mangoes depending on the season; a whole roast chicken for lunch along with the staple dry wheat bread of warriors, baatis in the evening and more roast meat for dinner.

In between all this there

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