With the connivance of Shakuni, whose idea it was, Duryodhana arranged an outing to the river for the princes of the Kuru court: the Kauravas and the Pandavas. Suddenly, he seemed to have shed his resentment of his cousins and took such pains over the excursion that Bheeshma was pleased. The patriarch thought Duryodhana had outgrown his envy; perhaps the future would not be as ominous as Vyasa had predicted.
At Pramanakoti on the banks of the Ganga, Duryodhana had a pavilion built, with smaller tents all round it, furnished with couches and silks from Hastinapura and a kitchen to rival the one in the palace. Bright flags flew over these and everything was ready for the outing. To be sure the Pandavas would not refuse to go to the river, Duryodhana made it a point to ask their advice on every detail: which cooks to take, where each tent should be pitched, how far from the main pavilion the kitchen should be, how many chariots they should travel in. He was so friendly the Pandavas were disarmed. They felt this was the beginning of a happier phase in their relations with their cousins.
It was a fine spring morning. The sky was clear, the sun shone down on the world and the people of Hastinapura came out of their homes as the youths set out, on elephants and in chariots, singing, cracking jokes and laughing. The people were pleased to see how free from rivalry their princes were. It boded well for the future.
After a merry journey, the young kshatriyas saw the river, wide as a small sea and winding away into the distance. When they arrived at Duryodhana's sprawling pavilion, the boys dismissed all their attendants and charioteers, except for the cooks: this was to be an outing just for the princes, to cele- brate their newly struck friendship. They entered the pavilion and it was hardly less than a palace. Everyone said how wonderful it was; this was their very own domain, a kingdom of the young. They hoped they would come back here frequently, free from elders, masters and tutors and tiresome court rules and etiquette.
Quickly, in the gardens between carefully laid lotus-pools, they were at wrestling and other bois- terous games; Bheema excelled at all of them. And soon they were hungry as only the young can be and came roaring for food into the dining hall. A feast was already laid out on the long tables set end to end against the walls, vast quantities of princes' fare.
When they had eaten their fill out of their own plates, they began to feed each other, affection- ately. No one noticed it was Duryodhana who began this and, strangest of all, he himself served Bheema. Yudhishtira approved and the other Pandavas did too. It seemed that finally the Kaurava had taken them to his heart. The guileless Bheema ate more than his fill from the plate of sweets, which Duryodhana fetched just for him and insisted his cousin finish every morsel. Bheema gorged himself on the delicious sweets, never knowing that deadly poison had been mixed in them. Earlier Shakuni had procured this nightshade from some forest gypsies, who were thieves and thought little enough of murdering anyone who crossed them. It was a slow-acting poison that Bheema had ingested.
When the meal was over, Duryodhana cried, "It's time for a swim!"
With loud yells, each one wanting to be first in the water, they raced one another to the river. They threw off their clothes as they went and dived in naked as they were born. A lot of fine young manhood was on display in the golden afternoon. Most of them were fluent swimmers and they raced one another to the far bank and back. Once more Bheema won by a long way, with Duryodhana just behind him. But the moment he came ashore, Bheema gave a sigh and flopped down on the warm sand. He felt so tired that he had to sleep.
Arjuna went up to him, "Are you all right, Bheema?"
Bheema waved him away, "It's so fine and warm here, I want to sleep for a while. I'll join you soon enough."
Duryodhana now said it was time for another round of refreshments; they should return to the pavilion.
"We haven't much time before sunset. Then we must head home."
He led the others back, shouting, laughing and pulling on the first set of clothes each one found. Often they were so ill fitting it provoked ribald jokes and fresh laughter. Duryodhana went into the kitchen to tell the cooks to bring out more food and drink. When the food arrived, no one noticed him slip out again. In the gathering dusk, he ran to the river where Bheema lay in a stupor of weird dreams. The Pandava lay paralyzed by the poison, of which Duryodhana had fed him enough to kill an elephant.
Humming to himself, the Kaurava began to tie Bheema's hands and feet with some vine he had hidden in a tree. He wasn't sure that even the huge dose of nightshade Bheema had eaten would kill him. He decided to make sure the thing was done one way or another. Having bound his uncon- scious cousin firmly with the thick vine, Duryodhana rolled Bheema into the murmuring river, grown dark with the falling night.
For a moment the Kaurava stood anxiously scanning the water. With a mock salute, he bid fare- well to his tormentor, "Goodbye cousin and sweet dreams."
He turned and ran back to the pavilion, where the others were still at their food. No one noticed him come in; so he had never left for all that anyone knew. Soon it was night and time to return to Hastinapura. Suddenly Yudhishtira asked, "Where is Bheema?"
Duryodhana replied casually, "When we last saw him he was asleep by the river. He must have woken up, found us gone and decided to get home before anyone else."
And no one gave it another thought. It would have been just like Bheema to go without telling them: he liked to be as unpredictable as he could. The rest of them, all the Kauravas and Pandavas, climbed into their chariots and on to their elephants and went back as merrily as they had come.
When they arrived, Yudhishtira went straight to Kunti. "Mother, has Bheema come home?" "No. Isn't he with you?"
"We left him asleep by the river and we thought he had come home on his own."
Kunti turned pale. "You must go back and look for him."
The four brothers rode back to Pramanakoti. Arjuna remembered where Bheema had lain down to sleep on the sand. Arjuna's sense of direction was uncanny in the moonless night; he led them straight to the spot. They lit torches and began to call Bheema's name, but only faint echoes above the river answered them.
Then Arjuna pointed to the sand at their feet. Clearly visible by the rushlights was the indentation of Bheema's heavy body where he had slept. And next to that were the marks where someone had rolled him into the water. It was too dark to do anything now. The river was cold and deep and full of undercurrents that could pull them down. And if their brother had drowned, it was too late to save him.
Yudhishtira said, "We can't do any good here now. Let's go back and come again tomorrow. Mother must be in a panic."
They rode back to the city. It was near midnight when they came into Kunti's chambers. They found Vidura was already with her. One look at her sons' faces and Kunti's eyes filled with tears. She said desperately, "I am sure Duryodhana has killed Bheema. Oh, haven't you seen, Vidura, how Dhritarashtra's boy hates my son?"
Vidura said, "Calm down, Kunti. These are rash accusations."
But she was past restraint. "How can you say that when you know how greedy Duryodhana is for the throne? He always saw Bheema as the main obstacle in his way. How can I be calm when my son has been murdered?"
Suddenly, the mild Vidura was stern. "Long lives have been foretold for all your sons. The astrolo- gers who read the stars do not lie. Even if Duryodhana tried to kill Bheema, I'm sure he isn't dead." He grew somber, then, said gravely, "Even if Duryodhana has killed Bheema, it won't help you to accuse him. It will only put him on his guard. And then, he will be in a hurry to kill your other sons as well, from whom he perceives no threat so far."
Kunti shivered when she heard that and grew quiet. Vidura said again, "My heart tells me Bheema will come back. Until then, you must remain calm. And most important, none of you must accuse Duryodhana."
Meanwhile, in another wing of the palace, Duryodhana and Shakuni were celebrating their successful enterprise with wine. Again and again, Shakuni asked, "Are you sure no one saw you when you rolled him in?"
"No one, Shakuni."
"None of your own brothers even? They can't be trusted to hold their tongues."
"Absolutely no one."
"Well, be sure you show none of this joy in the sabha tomorrow; or ever. At least, not until you are
king. And you may not have to kill any more of your cousins. The others are weaklings; we can take care of them easily now the dangerous one is dead."
"I am a man today, Shakuni. Where are the women you promised me?"
Shakuni clapped his hands and two young girls were brought in by a trusted servant, for the uncle and his nephew.
