Read Epic Retold: The Mahabharata in Tweets for Free Online Page B

the vessel lands on him. When he stumbles forward, blinded, burning, I kick his legs from under him.
    Jumping on his back, I press him down with my knee and grab his head. The animal grease has made it slick, but I get a good grip.
    I twist the massive head to the left, then, in one swift motion, to the right with all the power in my shoulders. A satisfying crack.
    The flabby torso jerks once, then falls still. I had not expected a difficult fight, but who would have thought Baka would be so feeble?
    Baka’s men are standing in shocked silence. As I rise, a flurry of arrows whistles past, to kick up dust in a semicircle around their feet.
    ‘Take the corpse—leave,’ I hear Arjuna’s voice from behind. ‘Never set foot in this forest again.’
    He comes forward to touch my feet. ‘Mother’s calculations were right,’ he says. ‘Baka was no Hidimba!’
    Then, seeing my questioning glance, Arjuna adds, ‘Elder brother asked me to come.’
    When we return in the afternoon, Yudhistira is waiting in the courtyard. He rushes to greet us, relief washing over his face.
    ‘Baka will not bother us anymore,’ I say, adding with a smile, ‘Though elder brother was unsure if Bhimasena was a match for him alone!’
    Yudhistira responds, frowning, ‘Wars are won by foresight and strategy, Bhima—not by blind trust in the strong.’
    Suddenly, shedding his seriousness, he embraces me. ‘I wanted you safe, brother,’ he says.
    For the first time since he asked me to leave Hidimbi, I feel affection for Yudhistira. I return his embrace.



IN DRUPADA’S PALACE
EPISODE
9
TWEETS
63
    A brahmin arrives with a message from Uncle Vidura. It changes all our plans.
    Yudhistira tells me about it late that night. ‘There is a swayamvara Uncle Vidura wants us to attend. In the palace of King Drupada.’
    Drupada is our neighbour, ruler of Panchala, an ageing but powerful king. Arjuna and I had visited him a year ago, on a mediatory mission.
    We had gone to him with territorial demands. Even when we threatened war, Drupada had listened with a gentle smile.
    Then, patiently, he outlined an alternative. I still remember the tactful way he had soothed our youthful fervour and averted war.
    On that occasion, I had met his sons. Drishtadyumna, younger to us, and Shikhandi, our elder. But I had not known he had a daughter.
    ‘Draupadi is Drishtadyumna’s twin,’ Yudhistira is saying. ‘If one of us wins her hand, we will gain a powerful ally in Drupada.’
    No surprises there. Marriage for strength. That has always been the way of our clan.
    Wives become queens based on the might of their family. Wives without might are discarded.
    ‘But this is no regular swayamvara,’ Yudhistira continues. ‘Drupada has arranged for a weapon contest. Draupadi will marry the victor.’
    I nod. A contest is interesting, especially if the prize is a powerful alliance. But Yudhistira appears to be thinking about something more.
    ‘They say she is a ravishing beauty,’ he says softly, almost to himself, ‘with skin like dusk.’
    Somehow, that does not enthuse me. Not for me this princess of Panchala. Mine, I had left behind—with my child growing in her belly.
    Yudhistira wakes me up earlier than necessary on the day of the swayamvara. When I protest, he admonishes:
    ‘The palace is a long way. We do not want to be late.’
    I cannot but notice Yudhistira is unusually spirited. Is it the prospect of regaining our kingdom? Or the thought of the Panchala princess?
    It is late morning when we arrive at the Panchala palace gates. To avoid undue attention, we make our way to the swayamvara hall one by one.
    My brothers have already taken seats in the area reserved for brahmins when I enter. Slowly, I make my way to where Arjuna sits.
    He does not notice me. He is staring intently at something suspended from the centre of the arching roof.
    Glinting in the sunlight flooding through carefully angled openings in the ceiling is a golden bird cage. Inside, a