Bhima and Jarasandha - The Wrestling Match

Day twelve.

They had been wrestling for nearly two weeks. No food. No rest. Just two bodies grappling, breaking, healing, grappling again. Jarasandha was born in two halves, magically joined—he healed from every wound. Bhima was simply inexhaustible.

Bhima: "You can't kill me, I've been trying to die for years. Nothing works."

Jarasandha: "I'm not most things."

Bhima: "My father tried to murder me at birth. Cut me in half. A rakshasi put me back together. Since then— —I've been indestructible. Unkillable. Cursed to live."

Jarasandha: "Cursed?"

Bhima: "You think immortality is a blessing? I've watched everyone I love die. I've seen my kingdom grow old while I stay the same. I've become a monster because there's nothing else to become. Monsters don't need companionship. Monsters don't grieve."

Jarasandha: "You keep ninety-nine kings in prison."

Bhima: "They're company. The only kind I can keep. If I befriend someone, they die. If I love someone, they age and wither while I stay young. But prisoners—prisoners last. They hate me, but they're there."

Bhima caught him in a hold—one that would have killed a normal man. Jarasandha's spine bent, nearly broke, then healed.

Jarasandha: "Your secret, The two halves. What happens if they're separated?"

Bhima: "Nothing. They come back together. They always come back together."

Jarasandha: "What if they can't?"

Jarasandha froze—just for a moment. But a moment was enough.

Bhima: "You know how, You've known all along. You just didn't tell anyone."

Jarasandha: "Why would I? So they could end me? So they could take away the only thing that makes me special?"

Bhima: "Or so they could free you. From the immortality you just called a curse."

Jarasandha's resistance slackened. Not surrender—consideration.

Jarasandha: "If I tell you, you'll kill me."

Bhima: "Yes."

Jarasandha: "And my prisoners go free."

Bhima: "Yes."

Jarasandha: "And I go... where? What happens to unkillable things when they're killed?"

Bhima: "I don't know. But it's different. That's something."

Jarasandha was quiet. They stood locked together, two tired men in an arena that had seen too much blood.

Jarasandha: "Tear me in half, But throw the halves in opposite directions. If they can't find each other, they can't rejoin."

Bhima: "That's it?"

Jarasandha: "That's it. That's been it all along. And now you know."

Bhima: "Why tell me?"

Jarasandha: "Because I'm tired. Tired of being feared. Tired of being indestructible. Tired of living when everyone else gets to stop. You're giving me a gift. The gift of ending. Take it. Use it. Let me rest."

Bhima's grip tightened.

Bhima: "Any last words?"

Jarasandha: "Tell them I wasn't always a monster. Tell them there was a king once, before the curse, before the loneliness. Tell them Jarasandha was a man before he was a legend."

Bhima: "I'll tell them."

Jarasandha: "Then finish it."

Bhima tore. The halves flew apart.

And for the first time in centuries, Jarasandha experienced peace.