SHAKUNI
The decorations at the Mayamkottu Malancharuvu Malanada temple at Pavitreshwaram, Kerala, were still bright and glowing, even at the end of the three-day punapratistha rituals of the month of Mokaram. The young Oorali priest Bhargav had completed all the rituals meant for this festival, and he would go home after he had done the final cleaning. All the other Ooralis, and the Pinyali priests, too, had left, and the temple looked empty and peaceful. The main deity, Shakuni, was almost hidden behind a pile of coconut offerings, and the cleaning of this area would take him the most time. He had already swept out the altars in front of the other deities Bhuvaneshwari, Kiratha, and Nagaraja. Before completing his job, however, he decided to sit down for some time in a cool corner of the granite throne, and rest himself after the hot, sun-soaked day. The three-day festival was fun, but he was glad it was finally over.
Not that Lord Shakuni demanded too much attention – unlike the elaborate preparations and yajnas necessary for the major Gods and Goddesses. It was his daily duty to break just one coconut at the altar, and even that was not done by most of the villagers around. They brought a coconut only when they remembered, and that was probably once in a fortnight. But he stuck to the habit that his father, and his father before him, had instilled in him. Nobody could say that he was not a dedicated, dharmanistha Oorali.
His favourite corner, however, was not empty today. To his dismay, he found it occupied by a tall man in travel-worn kurta-payjamas, who had fallen asleep with his head on his own shoulder-bag. Bhargav first debated whether he would sit down on the other side of the throne, but then he remembered that he would, in any case, have to wake up the stranger, as this area would have to be cleaned, and the temple locked up for the night. As such, he went up to the sleeping man and hesitantly shook his shoulder.
The man woke up with a jerk, and quickly sat up, as though he had been caught doing something wrong. “I-I-I am sorry”, he stuttered.
Bhargav calmed him down and told him that it was time for the temple to close. The man said – “You are an Oorali priest, are you not?”
“Yes, I am, but only a junior”.
“Never mind. I am a historian, doing research work on the Kuru-vansh. I heard about this temple some time back, and also about the temple of Duryodhan at Poruvazhi, very close to this place. I was interested, and decided to visit them both”.
“You were here for this annual festival?” Bhargav asked, his eyes lighting up. It was not everyday that people from other places came to see this temple.
“Only today. I could only witness the end. It was very exciting. But I was very tired, and this temple was looking so peaceful and cool, that I sat down to rest a little.”
“You may sit down there for half an hour more”, Bhargav told him. “I’ll clean up, and then we’ll go out together.”
“Why don’t you sit here for a few minutes?” The scholar patted the stone floor beside him for Bhargav to sit on. “I’d like to talk to you”.
Bhargav sat.
“Why is this temple dedicated to Shakuni of all people?” the scholar asked. “Look, I don’t want to hurt your sentiments – you are free to worship any one you like. But why an evil, scheming politician like him?”
Bhargav looked solemn. “Actually you educated people have a one-track mind, and think too much by force of habit. You have been taught that Raavan is evil and Duryodhan is evil, and you accept everything without question. We, too, are worshippers of Krishna and Shiv, but that does not stop us from accepting someone else”.
The scholar gestured around him – “That’s exactly why I want to know. This temple, this calm and peaceful atmosphere, these coconut offerings – it all seems so different from what Shakuni denotes”.
“And what does Shakuni denote? Do you know that he is called the Chosen One?”
“In what way?”
“The Chosen One, who had to fight against terrible odds merely to survive, and who survived only with the help of his wits right till the end.”
“I am sorry, but I know only the bare framework of the story”.
“If you give me some of your time, I shall tell you his story in three Great Episodes, and you will finally understand why he is so well-respected by us here”.
FIRST EPISODE
King Subal of Gandhar was father to one hundred sons and one daughter, Gandhari. Shakuni was his youngest son. When Gandhari was born, all the astrologers predicted that her first husband would die early, but her second husband would live long and healthy. To foil the workings of fate, Subal had her married to a goat, which was then killed, making here technically a widow.
Soon after, the Lord Regent of Hastinapur, the great Bhishma, during his conquering spree, visited Gandhar with his army. He was impressed with the beauty and intelligence of the young Gandhari, and asked Subal’s permission for her marriage to Dhritarashtra, the blind king of Hastinapur.
Subal said, “But, Bhishma, it is you who are the conqueror. I would like her to marry you”.
Bhishma answered, “I am a celibate. As such, I would wish her to marry the king.”
As the defeated party, Subal had no other option. Gandhari was married to a blind man, and she herself, in solidarity with her husband, donned a blindfold for life.
Subal was devastated. His only daughter, the star of his eyes, relegated to blindness, because of the whims of a powerful conqueror! He would not take it lying down. He certainly would not. He had a hundred sons. They would revenge their sister.
In Hastinapur, Gandhari, too, subsequently bore a hundred sons and one daughter – a genetic trait, perhaps. From the beginning there was bad blood between them and their five cousins – Pandu’s five sons – five boys who were infinitely more talented than they were. The one Pandava who was the most pugnacious and the most boorish, was Bhim, and he was the one Duryodhan (the eldest of the Kauravas, Gandhari’s sons) was most often involved in brawls with.
Once, in a mace fight between Bhim and Duryodhan, the latter gained a rare edge over the Pandava, and all the Kauravas cheered and whooped with delight. An angry Bhim threw down his mace, turned to Duryodhan, and spit out – “You have no need to celebrate. You are the son of a widow, and you will never get the better of me!”
Duryodhan was not merely hurt; he was astonished. They abused each other often, but so far he had never heard the Pandava boys insulting his mother Gandhari. She was too well-respected by everyone. There must be something in Bhim’s accusation. He strode off to accost his mother.
Gandhari was first silent before her son’s indignation. Then she said – “It is not for me to say anything. Go to Bhishma Pitamaha and ask him what you want”.
Instead of showing any sympathy, Bhishma berated him soundly – “Shame on you for judging your mother merely because she was married to a goat when she was a child!”
Duryodhan was not mollified. “But did my father know of this before his marriage?”
“I did not deem it necessary or important enough to be told”.
Duryodhan went to Dhritarashtra. “Father, perhaps my mother was not at fault. But King Subal must be punished for hiding the fact from her husband. He must be taught a lesson. I enjoin you to declare war on Gandhar”.
Dhritarashtra never could deny anything to his eldest, and so he fell on Gandhar with the formidable Hastinapur army. King Subal, along with his hundred sons, were imprisoned in a dungeon.
Duryodhan told his grandfather – “You are my kith and kin, and as such, I shall not kill you. But as per my father’s orders, you shall be supplied with a handful of rice every day. One handful of rice to be divided among all hundred and one of you. Live as best as you can on that.”
Subal, picturing what they would have to face in the coming days, said, “And how long will that be?”
Duryodhan laughed. “My father is lenient. If you can live for one year on that handful of rice, I shall set you free”.
After Duryodhan was gone, Subal fell on his knees, raised his hands to the heavens, and called out to the God he had worshipped all his life – “Hail Shiva, sarvashaktimaan! You are the great destroyer, the bane of evil, the power of the weak! Give us here the means of revenge, for such evil must be destroyed. Duryodhan is a misled boy, but Bhishma and the entire Kuru clan must be destroyed!”
He then called all his sons together. He looked on their bright, youthful faces, and his heart bled, for without causing any harm to anyone, they were doomed to death by starvation. And then he said – “My dearest boys! You will never know the pain I feel for you, my children! Never to see the light of the sun again, never to climb the mountains with your blood pumping in your breasts, never to hold a sword again, never to see the faces of your children, and those after them!”
His eldest said – “Don’t be sad, father; we are all Ksatriyas. We will bear our fate like the best of our clan”.
Subal looked at him sadly for a moment, and then continued – “I have to take a very difficult decision. I declare here and now, that we will have to opt for the highest kind of sacrifice. The handful of rice will only sustain one man, not a hundred and one. That man will be the one to destroy Bhishma and the Kuru clan”.
“And who will that man be? Who among us, father?”
Subal said – “The cleverest among us all”.
“How will you judge?”
Subal brought out a thin fibula from his clothing, probably that of a child. “The one who can thread this bone from one end to the other by tomorrow, will be the one to live”.
Each of the sons took the bone and did everything he could to thread it, but to no avail. The bone was slightly curved, and no way could be found by which the job could be done. Each of the boys looked resigned and walked away. The twenty-sixth son, after he failed, said to his father, “Father, I don’t think this job is possible. Why don’t you yourself try it? It will be our good fortune if you live to revenge us all”.
Subal smiled sadly and said – “I had tried once. If I could have done it, I would not have set this task. I want someone cleverer than I am”.
Shakuni, being the youngest, got the last turn. He had meticulously prepared himself for it. He had tied a thin piece of thread to the leg of an ant. He put the ant into one end of the bone. Then he took a grain of rice, and placed it at the other end. The ant started crawling through the bone to get the grain of rice, pulling the thread along with it. The job was done.
Bhargav looked up into the face of the scholar. His eyes glinting with loyalty for the god he was worshipping, he said – “Are you aware of what this young man went through in that prison? For the next year he saw his father and his brothers dying one by one before his eyes, while he ate the meagre fare that would keep him alive. Every time one of them died, he would make Shakuni swear the oath of revenge. A hundred times over the year he swore that oath, every time more resentfully than the last. Every day that handful of rice tasted increasingly bitter, for it seemed to him that he was the cause of death of his entire family. His father gave him some additional instructions– “Shakuni, take my thigh bones after I am gone, and use them as you will. I will live on through them”. So, after Subal closed his eyes for the last time, he took the thigh bones and made a set of dice with them. Day after day he sat in a corner whittling at them with a sharp stone. After they were done, he practised with them till his expertise crossed human limits. Later, people would say that the dice obeyed his command.
This is why I said that he was the Chosen One – the one singled out for life, for not only revenge, but also obedience to his duty. After the year was up, it was not Duryodhan who came for him, but Bhishma himself. It was Bhishma who took him, shaking with fever and covered with sores, back to Hastinapur to recuperate, and to live among them as a new member of a huge family – as Shakuni Mama. Every moment of the day he reached for an opportunity to bring about the downfall of the Kuru clan in general, and Bhishma in particular, for it was he who started it all. For Duryodhan he saved only a contemptuous resentment, for he saw him as a mere tool of the accursed family. He was, to his mind, a fool, and he had a feeling that he could use him for his purposes. Even if time could mellow the fire raging in him, the sight of his only sibling Gandhari relegated to blindfolded darkness, prevented it from happening. Yes, O stranger, Shakuni Mama was made, not born”.
SHAKUNI
The decorations at the Mayamkottu Malancharuvu Malanada temple at Pavitreshwaram, Kerala, were still bright and glowing, even at the end of the three-day punapratistha rituals of the month of Mokaram. The young Oorali priest Bhargav had completed all the rituals meant for this festival, and he would go home after he had done the final cleaning. All the other Ooralis, and the Pinyali priests, too, had left, and the temple looked empty and peaceful. The main deity, Shakuni, was almost hidden behind a pile of coconut offerings, and the cleaning of this area would take him the most time. He had already swept out the altars in front of the other deities Bhuvaneshwari, Kiratha, and Nagaraja. Before completing his job, however, he decided to sit down for some time in a cool corner of the granite throne, and rest himself after the hot, sun-soaked day. The three-day festival was fun, but he was glad it was finally over.
Not that Lord Shakuni demanded too much attention – unlike the elaborate preparations and yajnas necessary for the major Gods and Goddesses. It was his daily duty to break just one coconut at the altar, and even that was not done by most of the villagers around. They brought a coconut only when they remembered, and that was probably once in a fortnight. But he stuck to the habit that his father, and his father before him, had instilled in him. Nobody could say that he was not a dedicated, dharmanistha Oorali.
His favourite corner, however, was not empty today. To his dismay, he found it occupied by a tall man in travel-worn kurta-payjamas, who had fallen asleep with his head on his own shoulder-bag. Bhargav first debated whether he would sit down on the other side of the throne, but then he remembered that he would, in any case, have to wake up the stranger, as this area would have to be cleaned, and the temple locked up for the night. As such, he went up to the sleeping man and hesitantly shook his shoulder.
The man woke up with a jerk, and quickly sat up, as though he had been caught doing something wrong. “I-I-I am sorry”, he stuttered.
Bhargav calmed him down and told him that it was time for the temple to close. The man said – “You are an Oorali priest, are you not?”
“Yes, I am, but only a junior”.
“Never mind. I am a historian, doing research work on the Kuru-vansh. I heard about this temple some time back, and also about the temple of Duryodhan at Poruvazhi, very close to this place. I was interested, and decided to visit them both”.
“You were here for this annual festival?” Bhargav asked, his eyes lighting up. It was not everyday that people from other places came to see this temple.
“Only today. I could only witness the end. It was very exciting. But I was very tired, and this temple was looking so peaceful and cool, that I sat down to rest a little.”
“You may sit down there for half an hour more”, Bhargav told him. “I’ll clean up, and then we’ll go out together.”
“Why don’t you sit here for a few minutes?” The scholar patted the stone floor beside him for Bhargav to sit on. “I’d like to talk to you”.
Bhargav sat.
“Why is this temple dedicated to Shakuni of all people?” the scholar asked. “Look, I don’t want to hurt your sentiments – you are free to worship any one you like. But why an evil, scheming politician like him?”
Bhargav looked solemn. “Actually you educated people have a one-track mind, and think too much by force of habit. You have been taught that Raavan is evil and Duryodhan is evil, and you accept everything without question. We, too, are worshippers of Krishna and Shiv, but that does not stop us from accepting someone else”.
The scholar gestured around him – “That’s exactly why I want to know. This temple, this calm and peaceful atmosphere, these coconut offerings – it all seems so different from what Shakuni denotes”.
“And what does Shakuni denote? Do you know that he is called the Chosen One?”
“In what way?”
“The Chosen One, who had to fight against terrible odds merely to survive, and who survived only with the help of his wits right till the end.”
“I am sorry, but I know only the bare framework of the story”.
“If you give me some of your time, I shall tell you his story in three Great Episodes, and you will finally understand why he is so well-respected by us here”.
FIRST EPISODE
King Subal of Gandhar was father to one hundred sons and one daughter, Gandhari. Shakuni was his youngest son. When Gandhari was born, all the astrologers predicted that her first husband would die early, but her second husband would live long and healthy. To foil the workings of fate, Subal had her married to a goat, which was then killed, making here technically a widow.
Soon after, the Lord Regent of Hastinapur, the great Bhishma, during his conquering spree, visited Gandhar with his army. He was impressed with the beauty and intelligence of the young Gandhari, and asked Subal’s permission for her marriage to Dhritarashtra, the blind king of Hastinapur.
Subal said, “But, Bhishma, it is you who are the conqueror. I would like her to marry you”.
Bhishma answered, “I am a celibate. As such, I would wish her to marry the king.”
As the defeated party, Subal had no other option. Gandhari was married to a blind man, and she herself, in solidarity with her husband, donned a blindfold for life.
Subal was devastated. His only daughter, the star of his eyes, relegated to blindness, because of the whims of a powerful conqueror! He would not take it lying down. He certainly would not. He had a hundred sons. They would revenge their sister.
In Hastinapur, Gandhari, too, subsequently bore a hundred sons and one daughter – a genetic trait, perhaps. From the beginning there was bad blood between them and their five cousins – Pandu’s five sons – five boys who were infinitely more talented than they were. The one Pandava who was the most pugnacious and the most boorish, was Bhim, and he was the one Duryodhan (the eldest of the Kauravas, Gandhari’s sons) was most often involved in brawls with.
Once, in a mace fight between Bhim and Duryodhan, the latter gained a rare edge over the Pandava, and all the Kauravas cheered and whooped with delight. An angry Bhim threw down his mace, turned to Duryodhan, and spit out – “You have no need to celebrate. You are the son of a widow, and you will never get the better of me!”
Duryodhan was not merely hurt; he was astonished. They abused each other often, but so far he had never heard the Pandava boys insulting his mother Gandhari. She was too well-respected by everyone. There must be something in Bhim’s accusation. He strode off to accost his mother.
Gandhari was first silent before her son’s indignation. Then she said – “It is not for me to say anything. Go to Bhishma Pitamaha and ask him what you want”.
Instead of showing any sympathy, Bhishma berated him soundly – “Shame on you for judging your mother merely because she was married to a goat when she was a child!”
Duryodhan was not mollified. “But did my father know of this before his marriage?”
“I did not deem it necessary or important enough to be told”.
Duryodhan went to Dhritarashtra. “Father, perhaps my mother was not at fault. But King Subal must be punished for hiding the fact from her husband. He must be taught a lesson. I enjoin you to declare war on Gandhar”.
Dhritarashtra never could deny anything to his eldest, and so he fell on Gandhar with the formidable Hastinapur army. King Subal, along with his hundred sons, were imprisoned in a dungeon.
Duryodhan told his grandfather – “You are my kith and kin, and as such, I shall not kill you. But as per my father’s orders, you shall be supplied with a handful of rice every day. One handful of rice to be divided among all hundred and one of you. Live as best as you can on that.”
Subal, picturing what they would have to face in the coming days, said, “And how long will that be?”
Duryodhan laughed. “My father is lenient. If you can live for one year on that handful of rice, I shall set you free”.
After Duryodhan was gone, Subal fell on his knees, raised his hands to the heavens, and called out to the God he had worshipped all his life – “Hail Shiva, sarvashaktimaan! You are the great destroyer, the bane of evil, the power of the weak! Give us here the means of revenge, for such evil must be destroyed. Duryodhan is a misled boy, but Bhishma and the entire Kuru clan must be destroyed!”
He then called all his sons together. He looked on their bright, youthful faces, and his heart bled, for without causing any harm to anyone, they were doomed to death by starvation. And then he said – “My dearest boys! You will never know the pain I feel for you, my children! Never to see the light of the sun again, never to climb the mountains with your blood pumping in your breasts, never to hold a sword again, never to see the faces of your children, and those after them!”
His eldest said – “Don’t be sad, father; we are all Ksatriyas. We will bear our fate like the best of our clan”.
Subal looked at him sadly for a moment, and then continued – “I have to take a very difficult decision. I declare here and now, that we will have to opt for the highest kind of sacrifice. The handful of rice will only sustain one man, not a hundred and one. That man will be the one to destroy Bhishma and the Kuru clan”.
“And who will that man be? Who among us, father?”
Subal said – “The cleverest among us all”.
“How will you judge?”
Subal brought out a thin fibula from his clothing, probably that of a child. “The one who can thread this bone from one end to the other by tomorrow, will be the one to live”.
Each of the sons took the bone and did everything he could to thread it, but to no avail. The bone was slightly curved, and no way could be found by which the job could be done. Each of the boys looked resigned and walked away. The twenty-sixth son, after he failed, said to his father, “Father, I don’t think this job is possible. Why don’t you yourself try it? It will be our good fortune if you live to revenge us all”.
Subal smiled sadly and said – “I had tried once. If I could have done it, I would not have set this task. I want someone cleverer than I am”.
Shakuni, being the youngest, got the last turn. He had meticulously prepared himself for it. He had tied a thin piece of thread to the leg of an ant. He put the ant into one end of the bone. Then he took a grain of rice, and placed it at the other end. The ant started crawling through the bone to get the grain of rice, pulling the thread along with it. The job was done.
Bhargav looked up into the face of the scholar. His eyes glinting with loyalty for the god he was worshipping, he said – “Are you aware of what this young man went through in that prison? For the next year he saw his father and his brothers dying one by one before his eyes, while he ate the meagre fare that would keep him alive. Every time one of them died, he would make Shakuni swear the oath of revenge. A hundred times over the year he swore that oath, every time more resentfully than the last. Every day that handful of rice tasted increasingly bitter, for it seemed to him that he was the cause of death of his entire family. His father gave him some additional instructions– “Shakuni, take my thigh bones after I am gone, and use them as you will. I will live on through them”. So, after Subal closed his eyes for the last time, he took the thigh bones and made a set of dice with them. Day after day he sat in a corner whittling at them with a sharp stone. After they were done, he practised with them till his expertise crossed human limits. Later, people would say that the dice obeyed his command.
This is why I said that he was the Chosen One – the one singled out for life, for not only revenge, but also obedience to his duty. After the year was up, it was not Duryodhan who came for him, but Bhishma himself. It was Bhishma who took him, shaking with fever and covered with sores, back to Hastinapur to recuperate, and to live among them as a new member of a huge family – as Shakuni Mama. Every moment of the day he reached for an opportunity to bring about the downfall of the Kuru clan in general, and Bhishma in particular, for it was he who started it all. For Duryodhan he saved only a contemptuous resentment, for he saw him as a mere tool of the accursed family. He was, to his mind, a fool, and he had a feeling that he could use him for his purposes. Even if time could mellow the fire raging in him, the sight of his only sibling Gandhari relegated to blindfolded darkness, prevented it from happening. Yes, O stranger, Shakuni Mama was made, not born”.
