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for words—a battle I lose. ‘I must go,’ I say finally.
    There is no anger, no reproach in the eyes that look into mine. Instead they are fathomless pools of grief.
    I drown.



BAKA
EPISODE
8
TWEETS
41
    I do not remember the journey that follows. It is weeks before we reach the outskirts of Ekachakra—weeks I yearn to turn back.
    Yudhistira leads us to a house at the far end of the village. The owner seems to expect us; Uncle Vidura has not been idle.
    A room has been set aside for our use. In the other, smaller, room, the owner sleeps with his wife, son and daughter.
    The next morning, as befitting brahmins, my brothers and I go around, begging for alms. When we return, Mother divides the food among us.
    On the eighth day, I come home late. Mother and my brothers are in the other room, trying to console our hosts who are weeping.
    Seeing me walk in, Mother says, ‘If only one person is needed, my second son will go.’
    ‘Are you out of your mind, Mother?’ Yudhistira is so perturbed he has forgotten himself. ‘We cannot afford to lose Bhima!’
    Mother silences him with a withering look. Then, turning to the family, she says, ‘Do not trouble your minds. My son will go.’
    Back in our room, she turns to Yudhistira. ‘Is that all the faith you have in your brother? The one you count on to win all your wars?’
    My elder brother looks embarrassed. He murmurs something about not wanting to take unnecessary risks, but Mother has already turned away.
    Arjuna finally explains the situation to me.
    A forester who lived nearby left the villagers alone only on one condition: they supply a cartload of rice and two buffaloes every month.
    Each household had taken turns to meet the tribal’s demand, sending someone to deliver the food. But often, the villager did not return.
    ‘He kills brahmins as a pastime,’ Arjuna says. ‘Only two have escaped him. They say Baka is fierce and mighty—undefeatable.’
    Then he adds, smiling: ‘But what do the poor brahmins know of the might of Bhimasena who broke the forester Hidimba like a twig, eh?’
    An unknown enemy is always disconcerting. What if Baka is stronger than Hidimba? Would I still be a match? That night I do not sleep properly.
    I rise well before dawn. By the time I have bathed, the cart is ready. I touch Mother’s feet first, then Yudhistira’s, before I set off.
    The ride to the edge of the forest is short and dusty. Past the green paddy fields on the village outskirts, the buffaloes balk a little.
    Jumping down from the cart, I murmur soothing words, coaxing the beasts on to the forest path. For a while, I walk in front.
    Follow the path, my host had said the night before, I would be met. I do not have to travel long before I am stopped by a tribal.
    Taking him to be Baka’s aide, I point to the loaded cart, playing the part of the hapless brahmin. He nods, gesturing me on to a side path.
    The clearing we enter is by the mouth of a cave. A large metal pot stands on a hearth in the centre, bubbling with some kind of animal fat.
    Another of Baka’s aides is standing by the fire, stirring the brew with a long stick. Seeing me, he stops, disappears into the cave.
    The man who comes rushing out stands a head taller than me. Matted hair, red beard, blackened teeth. Small bloodshot eyes size me up.
    Baka is bigger than Hidimba, but I need not have worried. He is not muscle, just flesh—waves of jiggling flesh on a pair of spindly legs.
    Time for combat. Time for the quivering brahmin to turn warrior. Standing to my full height, I walk to the centre of the clearing.
    ‘Have you heard of the mighty Hidimba?’ I say. ‘I am the one who killed him. Now it is your turn, Baka!’
    Verbal duel before physical attack. An unsettled enemy is easier to overcome, Shukacharya has told me a thousand times.
    Baka roars when he realizes I have come for battle. As he rushes me, I seize the steaming pot from the hearth and send it hurtling.
    His scream trembles the forest as