'Are you kidding me?' squeaked Uttar, adolescent voice breaking as he reined in his fear, unmanned by the derisory snort of his stallions who weren't spooked like he was, by that sinister shami tree; a shady outcast in the deserted cemetery copse, a strange stench in the stagnant air.

'NoOO way will I...touch that ...that ...corpse...up there...' acrid sweat beading the budding moustache, upper lip not so stiff. King Virata's son clenched his shaking hands into a fist, fighting the urge to suck his thumb. He longed to be back with mummy - not with this...this matronly mannish weirdo who was now acting all macho, making a man out of him - what cheek!

Quickly striking a defiant akimbo at his peculiar but patient charioteer, the young royal swaggered:

'Firstly, I am a kshatriya and this is inappropriate; secondly, I am a prince and won't do the job reserved for burial staff; and thirdly, I practice sacred rites and mantras — I must not be defiled by such a contact!' And in conclusion, blushing with shame the teenager whined '...and and...people will condemn me!' glaring at the garish eunuch who dared to order him around like in this unceremonious manner.

Under his breath he muttered, ''I am not going to dance to your  tunes, unlike my sis,''  but ruefully  recalling that it was his boyish bravado that had landed him in this situation.  

'Whoa! whoa there...steady on dear boy!...I mean your Highness!!!... people may condemn you but trust me you won't be polluted - there is no body up there, just the famed Gandiva bow and other weapons in a bundle. I would never ask you to lower yourself like that! But your bow is a wee bit dainty for me to use against those thieving Kauravas - who by the way are right now ready to make more corpses than you can imagine!' cajoled Brihannala bristling, baritone voice swiftly covered up by a falsetto plea: 'So please, conquer your fear and hurry up! O noble Bhuminjaya!'

The prince never felt less like an earth-conqueror, as with a defeated expression he shuffled towards that tree, strangely shimmery under a brooding ashen sky.  In the distance the stationary Kaurava army watched, a black jagged line on the horizon. 

Cursing those sneaky cattle-thieves, Uttar was now determined to give those cowardly Kauravas a fitting reply. Besides, his sister awaited new cloth for her dolls, from clothes torn off the enemy...like that pinky-pink scarf of Karna.

Fired up, he leapt down from the chariot, this time receiving an approving nuzzle from his horses. 

Glancing over his shoulder and reassured by a 'thumbs-up' from his unique-looking chauffeur, he shimmied up the shami, scraping his shins, suddenly seized with a sense of daring as he wrested from the foliage-feathered boughs, a weighty camoflauged cloth bundle.

'What a drag this is' sighed the charioteer, 'I can't wait to get my steely breast-plates on and relinquish at last these...these ...off my chest at last!'

Still seated in the chariot, statuesque Brihanalla's eyes focussed like twin copper arrows on a single target: the parcel being unwrapped for him by the eager Uttar, who dazzled by the contents, ran his soft fingers through his wind-swept dark curls exclaiming:

'WOW...just WOW!!!'

[to be contd. in next O.S.]

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