SAHADEVA'S STORY
My Game
KESAVA MENON
My Game is an excerpt from a novel in progress. The novel is yet another interpretation of the Mahabharatha. It deals with the events and personalities depicted in the epic in a rational way, in an attempt at another look at the age-old story. The narrator is Sahadeva, the youngest and perhaps the most insignificant of the Pandavas. Although Sahadeva is relatively obscure, we know from the epic that he has intimate knowledge of the people whose actions, triumphs, and defeats live on in the legends. In a sense, Sahadeva's perspective is that of a political reporter. No such profession is known to have existed those many centuries ago. That being so, the novel is essentially one in which a political reporter of today re-examines the epic in a search for new insights.
This excerpt relates to the period when the Pandavas have completed their 12-year exile in the forest after losing the game of dice. They are about to enter the phase when they have to live in disguise. While the epic, for the most part, does not credit Sahadeva with a great deal of importance, he is assigned a special role in the novel. He is depicted as the Pandavas' chief of intelligence. In this role, he is seen as running an espionage network whenever they are a political force. The Pandavas are, of course, not a political force in the period covered in this excerpt and Sahadeva's role changes accordingly. He is the spy-catcher; the man who must track down and eliminate Duryodhana's spies before they can expose the Pandavas. Read on:
"THIS fellow can make himself invisible."
Since the days of our childhood my brother Arjuna had made that statement many times. So many times in fact that the tones accompanying it had, turn by turn, covered the full range from exasperation to admiration.
It was my special gift. This ability to so blend into my background that no one noticed my presence. It had helped me survive in the corridors of a Hastinapura broiling with intrigue. To survive and to help my brothers. Our cousins would be cooking up one of their endless malicious little plots or working out ways by which we could be deprived of some pleasure and there I would be. Just one among the grubby little horde, poking and giggling away on the fringes as if I were another of Duryodhana's horde of followers.
At first I had the desire but not the skill. Discovery was often swift and usually very painful. But then I had a strong streak of stubbornness and I persevered. I learnt to watch the individual and then whole groups, to gauge the flow of moods, to imbibe the sense of the crowd. I copied and practised a hundred different gestures and mannerisms. The trick was to keep oneself just on the edge of their peripheral vision. Sufficiently a part of the group so as to be non-threatening but not so much into it as to be noticed. To do too much was to invite disaster. Stillness was just as dangerous. The key lay in striking the right balance.
Of course I never discovered all their plots. Duryodhana was always too clever to trust too many with the really special ones he thought up. Yet I cursed myself every time we were caught unawares. This was my self-assumed contribution to the brotherhood and though my brothers were not aware of how seriously I took this responsibility, every failure was painful. Varnavrata was the first major disaster we faced collectively. Perhaps it was Yudhishtira who should have seen through that nasty little intrigue because he had been specially trained in statecraft. I was, however, of an age when it is difficult to forgive oneself and had engaged in this vocation with a vengeance from then on.
Over the years of wandering among forest dwellers and hermits and the months of living as Brahmins, I had kept up my practice. Adding to my repertoire, honing my skills. And then in the days of our glory, when we were carving out our own realm, I understood the greater value of my special skill and began to appreciate its benefits. As we strove to build a harmonious and prosperous community, I was the eyes and ears of the brotherhood.
And so I remained when our stars waned as well. In our wanderings through the great forests and wastelands that ringed Aryavarta, there was always a need for one of us to snoop outside. My skill was of little use in the forest and while I had learnt to survive in the jungle, my brothers did not need my help. There was no greater master of woodcraft than Bhima and he could take on all the dangers of the jungle. It was more important that I venture outside, sit by village fires, go to the markets to test the wind of the times. It was my job to find out whether Duryodhana was hunting us with the same intensity or had turned his attention to some other enemies. We had to know whether new alliances were being forged by the nations of Aryavarta and whether our friends remained true. Messages had to be exchanged with Krishna and Drupada.
This then was my role and if I could make myself invisible to Arjuna, the keen-eyed archer, then I could make myself invisible to anyone.
Now we were entering a new phase. We had to slip out of the forest and fit ourselves into the community of Matsya. At least four of our group of six, perhaps even the Eldest, would stand out in any crowd even as individuals. For us to go out collectively was unthinkable. Despite our poor clothing, untamed hair, and the bug-bites on our torsos, we would be instantly recognised. Five brothers and a woman. We might as well step out with conches blowing and elephants parading before us.
My first task was to check out the Matsyan country. To find the slots each of us could fit into and help Draupadi and my brothers slip into their roles without arousing suspicion. Matsya was spread over a semi-arid terrain but was still a good breeding ground for horses and cattle. There were no great rivers in these parts, only man-made lakes, wells, and fields of gritty grass and scrub. It was basically a pastoral community with the towns and villages, such as they were, as somnolent as the smoke from a dung-fire. Once we settled in to the community, we might escape notice. But people eyed strangers with caution. My skills would be fully tested as I helped the others get past this initial hurdle and I was delighted.
I had to make my brothers understand that there was no way of allaying suspicion altogether. People would always be curious. We had to accept that fact and turn it to our advantage. Each of us would appear on the scene as a drifter and the Matsyans would not be satisfied with the straightforward explanations that anyone gave. In such a situation it would be stupid to provide an over-elaborate explanation. Instead, each would have to give a sparse account of his or her past and convince the listener that there was nothing very interesting in it. In short, we had to pander to the general belief that drifters were losers who were ashamed of their personal histories. Each would have to behave in such a fashion as to hint at some basic flaw. If we were careful and lucky, observers would believe that this shame was the cause for the drifting.
Bhima, for instance. Anyone would wonder why a person with his physique had not taken a position as someone's personal guard or favourite wrestler. Fortunately, my brother had two redeeming faults. He could keep silent for days together and go about his job like a buffalo tied to a waterwheel that cannot deviate either from its path or its pace. He was also not very good at following instructions that he was not in a mind to. In time, observers would probably conclude that Bhima was too set in his ways and too simple to be disciplined for some other occupation.
Each of the others would likewise have to depend on their particular flaws. Nakula as someone who was too flippant and amorous to have any higher ambition; Draupadi too confident and beautiful for any jealous mistress to keep her around; Yudhishtira so often lost in his own thoughts as to be an undependable counsellor. Arjuna's disguise was the most elaborate of all but he had the talent to pull it off.
Our splitting up was itself a most effective disguise. We remained in Aryavarta's collective memory as a group of six. Once we broke up that picture and ensured that our connections to one another remained hidden, it would be difficult for any but the most astute or the most interested to discover that we were parts of the same puzzle.
Actually I, and Draupadi, had already entered the new phase. I had been working as an overseer of cattle for a few weeks and had spent the last few days initiating Draupadi into her new role. This was only a short excursion into the forest to report to my brothers. As I finished, Nakula had asked whether my new masters would not miss me. With great patience, I had to explain that in my job I needed to move about a lot. So, if I were missed in one place, they would assume that I was in another.
"But why a Magadhan cattleman?" Bhima was intrigued. "What do those rice growers know about rearing cattle?"
Magadha was only the place of origin of my new persona I explained. The person I had become was born in that eastern region but had been stranded in Yadava country since early youth. That was how he had learned the finer points of cattle rearing from the Yadavas, the best cattlemen in Aryavarta.
"But why Magadha?" Bhima persisted.
"That was the best way to throw anyone of the scent," I answered blandly. What need was there for me to explain that the Magadhan persona was the one I could most effortlessly slip into. I had totally imbibed the accents and mannerisms peculiar to Magadha. Once I slipped into the persona, I could be woken from the deepest sleep and I would react like a Magadhan. It might have been less circuitous to adopt a Yadava personality and their accents were close to our own, but some of their mannerisms were so peculiar to themselves that more effort would be needed to retain the right inflexion. These were however my secrets, the unperfected features of my craft. Why should I allow anyone, even my favourite brother, to think that I had not mastered my craft?
"And no one has suspected you in the least?" Arjuna slipped in the question when he saw that Bhima, though not entirely satisfied, was not going to press on.
"No," I replied and then thought that a demonstration would be in order. So I showed them how I walked with the bent-kneed stride of the cattle herder, how I leaned on my staff while talking with my gaze far away as if in search of a straying cow. How I had glanced directly at my questioner only occasionally and how I had mixed humility with traces of the herdsman's independence of spirit. I finished and squatted down like a man who was resigned to his lot. While I thus squatted before my brothers, I did what I could to dull the spark in my eyes.
That was when, to my gratification, Arjuna snorted his words of admiration:
"This fellow can make himself invisible."
Part II: Next week
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