The Pandavas settled slowly into their new life. For the first time, they tasted the luxury of a palace and the privileges of being princes. They accepted these with humility and grace. They were very dif- ferent from Dhritarashtra's sons, who had known only this opulent existence: Pandu's sons had lived in the wilderness, which is a profound teacher. Besides, they had known the sorrow of their father's death and Madri's.
Envy from the Kaurava princes could not be far behind. They burned with it, when they saw how kshatriyas and servants alike and, most of all, the common people of Hastinapura warmed to their cousins. The Pandavas were always courteous and kind, while Dhritarashtra's sons were arrogant, wanton and often cruel. And when Duryodhana and his brothers found the Pandavas were altogether more accomplished than they were and especially at arms, there was no turning back from the destiny that lay in store for them all.
Of the five Pandavas it was the second one, rumbustious young Bheema, whom Duryodhana saw as being the main threat to himself. So far, being the oldest among his brothers, Duryodhana had been a favorite of the Kuru patriarch Bheeshma, whom the Kauravas called Pitama, Grandfather. Suddenly, with the advent of the Pandavas, Duryodhana saw his pre-eminence with Bheeshma dwin- dle sharply. He felt the old man's affections were now shared too much; and as with everything else about him, Bheema's appetite for his grandfather's love was larger than life. Duryodhana was jealous of every caress or tender word with which Bheeshma favored his ebullient cousin.
The other four Pandavas, especially the introverted Yudhishtira, were reticent when compared with Bheema. But he, young giant, suffered from no inhibitions. He took heartily to palace life, as if he wanted to make up for the lost years in the forest. There was a huge, innocent wildness about young Bheema that was irresistible. Everything he did or wanted was at least twice as much as all the others. And his energy was boundless, as he raged his exuberant way from dawn to dusk and one day to the next, his eyes shining!
Pandu's second son was as restless as his natural father, the wind and he was awesomely strong. When the Pandavas first arrived in Hastinapura, Duryodhana and his brothers had smirked at their simple attire and their rustic appearance. A few days went by and Duryodhana made the mistake of challenging Bheema to wrestle with him. He wanted to put the Pandavas in their place. The oldest Kaurava was by far the strongest of his own brothers and he thought he would give the forest boy a sound lesson.
But this was a miscalculation. For a week, Duryodhana could hardly sit from the thrashing Bheema gave him. The bout had hardly begun and Duryodhana was flat on his back. Each time he got up, Bheema would knock him down again, effortlessly. It was the first time anyone had given Duryodhana a beating and all his life he never forgot it. Seeing their brother humiliated, ten other Kaurava boys set on the Pandava, who was alone: Bheema routed the lot and they carried bruises for days.
After that, none of Dhritarashtra's sons dared cross Bheema, or any of the other Pandavas for fear of him. Indeed, most of the boys acknowledged that Bheema was by far the strongest among them; though not in front of Duryodhana. Bheema became the bane of Duryodhana's life, the despoiler of his youth. It was a hatred the Kaurava never grew out of. He spent his days hatching plots against his cousin, who was quite innocent of the undertow of real evil in their relationship. Bheema lived irre- pressibly, from moment to moment, day to day—life was a wonderful thing, to be lived to the hilt and never to be brooded over. It was a game to play, perhaps to bury the sorrow of a father's death; and Bheema was certain that everyone else, even Duryodhana was just like himself.
Little did he know how obsessed the Kaurava had become with him, that the king's son spent hours thinking dark thoughts about him, how even his dreams were full of Bheema's ringing laugh- ter. Duryodhana just could not accept his cousin, who had arrived in Hastinapura only to ruin his life. All Duryodhana saw these days was Bheema: hateful, happy, incredibly strong Bheema, every- where. Bheema who ate twice what any other boy did; who could run like the wind, twice as fast as the others; who was stronger than any ten Kauravas; who was a bit of a bully and taunted his cousins, always daring them to a fight; Bheema who had quickly become his grandfather Bheeshma's favorite grandchild; who shook the Kauravas out of the fruit-trees in the palace orchards like so many man- goes; who pulled their hair, beat them at will, wrestled with any ten of them at once; carried tales about the Kauravas to each other, so they fought among themselves; Bheema who was fiercely loyal to his own brothers and for whose sake no Kaurava dared touch any Pandava, though they were only five; Bheema who was the bane of Duryodhana's life, Bheema whom Duryodhana wanted dead.
For some time, Duryodhana seethed in silence and the bile he was forced to swallow threatened to choke him. Then, there came to Hastinapura someone who was to fuel Duryodhana's envy of the Pandavas into tragic proportions. Gandhari's brother, Shakuni, arrived in the ancient city.
Plump Shakuni had cold, womanly hands, pale serpent's eyes and the hint of the serpent's hiss in the lisp with which he spoke. Duryodhana took to his uncle immediately, as if he had waited for him all his young life. Shakuni sharpened Duryodhana's sense of the future and what lay in store for him if Yudhishtira ever ruled Hastinapura; as seemed likely, since the Pandava was the oldest among the cousins and ideally suited to be a king by his upright and serene nature.
Duryodhana had grown up all these years believing that one day the throne of the Kurus would be his. Shakuni whispered in his ear that he would be no more than the Pandavas' slave; is that what he wanted, he the king's son? Is that the fate in which he intended to allow his life to be mired and leave it a shallow, powerless thing forever? Or did he mean to stand up like a kshatriya to the injustice that was about to overtake him? And thus return his life and his brothers' lives, to the destiny of being the Kuru king's sons.
Shakuni said, "The choice is yours. Will you be weak and allow events to overwhelm you? Or will you be strong and mould events to your own will? Will you be a servant or a king?"
Duryodhana replied without hesitation, "I will be a king. I will rule the world and shape it to my will."
"Then Bheema is the one you must be rid of. He is Yudhishtira's strength."
"I know. But how will I do it?"
Shakuni seemed to examine his nephew closely, as if to discover if the boy was worthy; whether,
when the time came, he would have the courage to carry out the scheme his uncle was about to sug- gest to him. Shakuni was a small man, the eyes in his closed face always restless with plotting. Nobody ever knew what Shakuni was thinking, though you could be certain it was no good. He also had the reputation of dabbling in the dark arts, of being something of a sorcerer; but again, no one knew for sure.
Now Shakuni moistened his lips with a slim tongue. He lowered his voice and said, "There is only one way, of course. You must kill Bheema. Without him the others are no match for you and your brothers."
Duryodhana gave a hiss of satisfaction: here at last was a counselor after his own heart. The prince's eyes blazed. He clasped Shakuni's hand so fiercely even that evil one was a little unnerved. Duryodhana whispered, "I've been thinking the same thing for a year. But there was no one I could trust to help me and keep his mouth shut as well."
"You have me now, Duryodhana; and if you want it, for ever."
"No one, uncle, will make a better minister to the future king of the Kurus. Tell me, Shakuni, how do we get Bheema out of the way? How soon can I sleep again at nights? When can I know that animal, my detested cousin, is dead?"
"We mustn't touch him here in the palace. It is too risky. Listen..."
