The
Princess shuddered at the old sage’s touch. His wizened fingers were callous
and coarse. His face was a grotesque visage of lines deepened by years spent in
the wild. The matted hair with tendrils escaping from it reminded her of the
gnarled roots of a well-lived tree. She could not believe that the Queen Mother
had thrust this nightmare upon her. This; when the mourning period for her dead
husband was not even over yet. A small but audible sigh escaped her and she
shut her eyes tight, willing the ordeal to be over soon.
The
aged sage looked down at her. He could well understand the qualms within her.
He was no Gandharva to look at, but then this was what his so-called mother
willed and therefore he had no choice. It was a harsh but much needed decision
of niyoga to ensure that the lineage of Kurus flourished. However, he was
apprehensive of breaking the news to the queen mother. He was thinking of what
was the best way to break the news to her, when her summons came.
Satyavati
looked at her son, born of sage Parashara, standing in front of her. He had an
unsure look on his face. She wondered what could have happened that his
expression was such. She had heard the screams and protests of anger and agony
from her daughter-in-law, however she had chosen to turn a deaf ear to that,
her strong-willed mind intent upon the lineage that would be brought forth
through her first-born, if not King Shantanu’s children. With a foreboding that
belied her usual self, she beckoned Vyasa to her, and asked him of the outcome.
Krishna
Dwaipayana, the dark-skinned one replied thus,
“Of
your daughter, Ambika shall be born a great and mighty boy, as strong as ten
thousand elephants. He will possess inordinate intellect, abundant vitality and
will beget a hundred sons. However, since the princess did the grievance of not
opening her eyes when I was with her, the boy so born will be blind. He will be
named Dhritarashtra – “one who wields the power of the nation and holds it
together.”
Dhritarashtra
wandered the castle aimlessly, his thoughts taking him through the murky annals
of his life. The strength of a thousand elephants – Bah! Of what good was
immense strength when his own kith and kin looked at him with pity. He
remembered the day Vidur, his closest friend and stepbrother had expressed what
was uppermost in everyone else’s minds. Nobody else had voiced it out in front
of him and none would have had the gumption to, but he had heard the whispered
murmurs, and felt the sly glances. Over the years, he had developed a keen
sense of hearing, and acute perception. As the eldest of the family, he was the
rightful heir to the throne. He had not let his blindness get in his way to
proving his capabilities. There was none as strong as he was and as experienced
as him in combat warfare, blind as he maybe. He had proven himself worthy of
the throne in every aspect. Yet, it was not to be.
He
had accepted the decision to crown Pandu as king, with his usual calm demeanor
and his head held high. He had found himself, cheering along with the family
when the coronation took place. He loved Pandu like none else, he was after all
he was his younger brother but deep in his heart, he felt the twinge of
jealousy raking its head up every now and then. He wished it were he on that
high and mighty throne, looking down on his subjects. Holding high the staff of
Hastinapura, proving to everyone that he was the rightful possessor of the
rule. Except that, it was not to be. For; a king to be blind was unheard of and
considered blasphemous.
When
Pandu knelt before him for his blessings, he felt a pang of shame for the
thoughts flowing within him and blessed him wholeheartedly, that he would
succeed as king. However, the injustice still rankled within him rearing its
ugly head once every few instances. He vowed immediately that his sons would
not undergo the same agony that he was enduring.
It
was with this thought that he agreed to get married to Gandhari, the beautiful princess
of Gandhar, one of the vassal states of Hastinapura. He believed that his queen
would be whatever he could not be. That she would be his sight and ears and his
equal in all rights. However, when the queen found out that her husband was
blind, she had taken a red cloth and tied it over her eyes, reasoning that she
wanted to share the pain her husband was suffering. He had felt cheated, that
he had missed yet another chance; that life had thrown its dice against him yet
again. Emboldened by the thought that his hundred sons would soothe his
suffering, he kept quiet and continued as the regent king when Pandu renounced
the kingdom and left for the forests with his two wives.
For
a while having enjoyed the monopoly of power, the threat of having to give up
the throne, came back to haunt him when Pandu’s sons and his wife Kunti
returned from the forests, after the former’s death. From then on, it had been
a rollercoaster ride of sibling rivalry, friction, multiple instances of strife,
paltry fights and finally the day it had all come to a standstill – The day of
the Game of Dice. For him, that was the day his sons’ fates had been sealed.
Dhritarashtra
sat on the huge jewel-encrusted throne. His frame looked diminished as opposed
to man who was supposedly the strongest of them all. The most recent emissary
from the battlefield had only brought more bad tidings. He had already heard
the latest reports of the war from his trusted advisor Sanjaya. He cursed
himself for having turned an already blind eye to the errant ways of his sons. He
lamented the fact that he was losing his sons one by one each day. He blamed
himself for not having been sterner with them when the situation demanded. Deep
in his heart, he had known that this was to be expected. This war, this
carnage, these deaths, they were all inevitable.
He
had caught Krishna alone a few days later after the bloodshed and had bemoaned
to him about the cursed life he was leading. He sensed a small smile playing at
the corners of Krishna’s lips in the answer the latter gave. He reflected upon
himself as Krishna had told him to and became aware of his actions as a tyrant
king in one of his many past lives. Giving into a passing whim, he had cruelly
gouged out the eyes of a swan he had come across in that life and killed its
hundred young cygnets, without any remorse. His mind in a swirl, he dejectedly
ruminated that the cycle of karma was finally catching up with him.
And
so it was, and so it would be, until the all-consuming thoughts burning inside
of him, manifested itself as a forest fire, pervading his present being,
freeing him of the torment, bringing along with it the peace and calmness he
had been craving for.
His
mind filled with the appearance he had begged and pleaded Krishna to show him,
until the latter had relented relieving him of his blindness temporarily and granting
his wish.
That
image, of the Lord Supreme, in all his glory, in his Viswaroopa, would forever
be imprinted on his mind.
As
also, the enormity of the words his nephew had whispered into his ears before
he left;
“The
tranquility as well as the turmoil that binds a being to his current existence
is
defined by the ripples of his actions, good and bad, accumulated over his many
lives.
One
can neither change it nor will it otherwise.
That
what is meant to be, will be.”
