Ekalavya - The Mahabharata Chronicles #16 - Part 2

Krishna glanced at the taut figure sitting by the lamp, reading a manuscript. The spine straight, the shoulders rigid, the light dancing across his eyes, making it gleam.

He announced his presence.

Drona, looked up from the manuscript that had caught his attention, and looked askance at Krishna.  He imperceptibly nodded his head, indicating that he had set the plan in motion. Not one to even miss the smallest of things, he discerned what appeared to be a tiny tear at the left corner of Drona’s eye. He chose to ignore it as there was nothing that he could really say to soothe Drona’s frazzled mind, however, the Acharya looked into Krishna’s eyes, and told him, “You do realize if guided properly, this young man could have been the greatest archer in the entire universe. You just deprived him of that chance and maybe his whole life.”

Krishna held Drona’s gaze steadily and remarked, “I know!”

---------------------X-------------------

Ekalvaya was disheartened. He was dejected over the turn of events. He knew he couldn’t be moping around like this. He had a tribe to lead and now had to focus upon other things. But how? His entire life, he had focused on learning archery and being the best there was and now even that was snatched from him for no fault of his. The pride in him refused to accept what had happened. His ego refused to accept defeat. He wanted to show the man he had thought of as his Guru, that losing a thumb did not make any difference.

He started practicing with fervour again using his forefinger in place of his thumb. With days, he got better. Though he would never be the archer he once was, he was at least following his passion.

---------------------X-------------------

Krishna looked over at Bheema and Arjuna. They were visibly excited at the prospect of visiting Magadha. Much acclaimed for its hospitality, they were looking to have a good time, after completing the objective for which they had set foot on. They reached the palace gates, where they announced their arrival to the sentry on duty. They were received with much aplomb, even though Jarasandha – the Emperor of Magadha, was well aware of the intentions behind this sudden visit. Over dinner and wine, the well-meaning banter, took a more serious note when talk switched to wrestling. It was no surprise that Jarasandha was a well-known wrestler, his fame had spread far and wide as did the mystery of his birth and youth. Called upon to honour an invitation to fight anyone of the three guests, the emperor, known for his sharp tongue and suave wit, remarked that he would fight an opponent who was worthy of him – Bheema. He said he wouldn’t fight a weakling archer like Arjuna, nor an escapist who runs away from the battlefield like Krishna.

Hearing his emperor speak thus, one of his chief guards behind him, turned around and took stock of the visitors. The familiar faces of Arjuna and Krishna, deeply etched into his memory, threw Ekalavya off balance. He was flabbergasted to see them and was even more surprised that his emperor was going to wrestle with Arjuna’s brother. A sinister feeling that no good could come out of this crept upon Ekalavya. He had grown to regard Jarasandha as a father figure and mentor, soon after the emperor had taken him under his wings and made him commander-in-chief of one section of his mighty army. Jarasandha had given him hope when there was none and Ekalavya had pledged his life to him. 

It was over in a matter of minutes, once Krishna had shown the idea to Bhima. Ekalavya had watched the entire match with keen eyes, not missing a thing. Months later, he could still hear and see in his mind’s eye, each whisper of the breeze, each leaf that fluttered, the hushed and eager breathing of the audience, the sly glances that passed between the Pandavas and Krishna, the stricken eyes of the emperor when he realized that this was the end and the victory march by Bhima.

Months later, whenever he practiced each day, he would recall the vow he made to keep fighting for his emperor’s forces and those that he allied with.

-----------------------X-------------------

Krishna looked at the man standing before him, clad in warrior garb, holding a bow that was obviously self-fashioned. He spine ramrod straight, his stance defensive, it was clear that he was itching for a fight. The eyes which once showed humility, now portrayed belligerence tinged with a hint of bitterness.

Ekalavya looked at Krishna, remembering the two instances that he had met him. Two very different circumstances and now this one. He had attacked Dwaraka upon Duryodhana’s orders, instigated by him to avenge his emperor’s death. His mission was to kill Krishna and here he was standing in front of him, the boy he had met a long time ago in the forest, the one who was in a twisted way, his cousin.

“I possess the answers you seek” said Krishna to Ekalvaya. “But for that, you must finish what you have set out to do.”

They duelled. The outcome was of course evident. And at some point, Eklavaya realized it too, that he was fighting against a force greater than a mere mortal. While the warrior in him didn’t give up, his body surrendered. The aggression in his eyes faded, replaced by the acceptance of his fate. In his final moments, he sought of Krishna, the answers to his questions.

Krishna gently placed his hand on Ekalavya’s head, and told him that his greatest falling lay in the fact that he did not follow the words of the man he considered his Guru, the man he offered his thumb to as Guru-Dakshina. The reason was his ego. And because he had let that ego take over, his path had strayed away from the righteous and allied with Duryodhana, thereby making him formidable. And therefore, in order to cleanse the earth of the adharma that had rooted in her, it was necessary that this happened for the greater good.

           

Ekalavya - The Mahabharata Chronicles #16 - Part 1

Govinda looked down upon the scenes unfolding below. He had to admire his cousin’s tenacity. He doubted if any of the Kuru princes would have had the guts to do that. The thought struck him that both of them, princes in their own right, standing in front of each other, were in fact third cousins, through him, though neither knew that.

----------------X----------------

His hand still bleeding, he looked at his future fallen carelessly by the side. The severed thumb seemed to be mocking at him. He was still in a state of shock. He was now wondering if his courage was nothing but foolhardiness. Which archer would give their right thumb willingly? But then for that matter, which guru would ask for such a heinous guru-dakshina?  All to save the ego of a Kuru prince? 

[Pic Source: https://postimg.org/image/mwxrpinvp/]

He had glanced at Drona, looking straight into his eyes, when the request was made. His face betraying none of the emotions he felt underneath, he had calmly taken his hunting knife, severed his thumb in one clean movement and laid it at his guru’s feet. He thought he had discerned a gleam in Drona’s eyes - regret, guilt, relief? He would never know.

-----------------X-----------------

Govinda climbed down from his perch. He walked over to the boy, still in shock. He sat by his side in a comradely way and touched his shoulder. Ekalavya looked up at this newcomer. His touch felt a tad familiar, like a long-forgotten memory.

They both sat in silence for some time, at the end of which, Govinda got up. He looked at Ekalavya and said, “You may not know this. But we are related. Your birth father, Devashraya, is my uncle. You got lost when you were young, just a mere boy, when a hunting trip went awry. I know now, that your father is the King of Nishadas, Hiranyadhanush and you are very happy with him. Your fathers, both of them, would be proud of you. As for whatever happened now, think of it as being for the greater good.”

Saying so, Govinda smiled enigmatically and walked away.

Ekalavya, glanced at the retreating figure. He had known about his adoption, but things were a lot clearer now. However, in place of those cleared questions, more perturbing ones arose.

Why did this have to happen?  What would he do now? How would he shoot again? What would happen to his lifelong dream? A feeling of resentment coupled with anger took over. Wasn’t he also a prince in his own might? And by this stranger, who said they were related, wasn’t he again a prince of the Yadava clan? How could he be differentiated so?  This wasn’t fair at all.

He sat there in the dark, trying to figure out and make sense of his thoughts and feelings.

At dawn, he got up, shook the caked dirt off his clothes, and in a resolute manner, walked towards his home.

-------------------------x--------------------

Drona was disconcerted. He couldn’t believe what he had asked, or why he had asked that. Surely there was a better way he could have dealt the entire thing with. It was almost as if his mind was controlled by someone, when he said those darned words. How could he as a teacher have said something to that effect, even if he hadn’t taught the boy himself? And he couldn’t believe the fearlessness of the Nishada boy. How could he had have just severed his thumb like that? What was the matter with him?  Didn’t he know he would never be able to shoot again? Yes, he had turned the boy down when he had come to him with a request to accept him as a disciple. His hands were full enough with the Kuru princes, and the boy belonged to a lower caste. The rules of the kingdom wouldn’t have allowed Drona to teach him.

But of what point was all this now?

The boy had retreated willingly enough, understanding in his face and sorrow in his eyes at being turned down. However, who in their wildest dreams would have thought that the boy would practice in a front a statue in Drona’s form, revering him as his guru and with no proper guidance still best all the disciples Drona had ever taught.

Something shook him out of his reverie. He looked around and saw nothing. Still disturbed, he turned back to his thoughts.

And as if earlier, as in the forest, he heard himself say, “it was necessary. For the greater good.”

--------------X-----------

(to be continued)

Ashwatthama, the Chiranjeevi - The Mahabharata Chronicles #5

“I infuse thee, this blade of grass, 

with the power of the Brahmastra, 

for the annihilation of the Pandavas and Krishna.”

I hear these words that I uttered, ringing inside my ears, as if it happened yesterday.

I see the blade of grass, infused with the weapon of destruction, hurtling towards the group of warriors gathered at the ashram of Sage Vyasa - the warriors who had come in search of me, to extract their revenge.

I feel the rage that coursed through me then, for all the slaughter, the deceit, and the genocide that took place over the last eighteen days.

And I feel the helplessness that surged through me, when I redirected the weapon to the womb of Uttara, the unborn heir of Abhimanyu, and the future of the Pandava lineage.

3000 years thence, I roam these lands paying the price for my heinous act, living a cursed life, trapped in a body filled with pus, sores, and diseases, waiting for the so-called judgement day, the end of Kali Yuga – the age of darkness.

I do not seek forgiveness nor do I feel remorse or repentance for my deeds anymore.

For I know that all these were preordained. For I understand this is how this magnum opus is meant to be played out. 

Know me as Ashwatthama, the Chiranjeevi – partial incarnation of Lord Rudra, named so because I neighed like a horse at birth.

                                                                                           [Pic Couresty: http://molee.deviantart.com/]

I, who was born as a Brahmin, but was drawn towards the life of a Kshatriya.

Progeny of the famous Acharya, Guru Drona, who always preferred Arjuna’s skill to mine. Comrade to the Kaurava heir, Duryodhana, who always favoured Karna’s friendship over mine. 

Master of astras and shastras, and once upon a Yuga, the possessor of a famed jewel.

The jewel that I was born with. The jewel that adorned my forehead and protected me from diseases, fear, and enemies. The jewel that was prised from me for my monstrous act.

The act of destroying the lineage of the Pandavas.

My life as I knew it had always been encumbered with wants, longings, and desires. Filled with instances of people’s derision of our lifestyle, I do not remember anything about my childhood apart from our impoverished existence, until Father became Acharya to the Kuru princes.  However, the fact that we were still at the mercy of others always irked me. Even as a friend of the Kauravas, I never could feel equal to them. Even though none of them said so explicitly, there was always a difference. Always a thin line that demarcated me from them, because I was the son of their Acharya.

I remember the early days of learning where Father favoured me over his new students. By virtue of being his son, he taught me mantras and weapons that he did not impart to the others. He was partial to me until his favouritism found a new heir. Arjuna.

Arjuna, to whom Father imparted all his skills and knowledge. Arjuna, who soon impressed his Guru with his dedication and sincerity to learn and become the world’s best archer. Arjuna, who became Father’s prized pupil. Arjuna, who got my Father’s attention and affection, the care that I yearned for.

Father was not happy about the fact that I was friendlier with the Kauravas than with his preferred Pandavas. However, I felt more at home with the high-spirited Kauravas rather than the virtuous sons of Kunti. Sometimes, at night, when he thought I was asleep, I could hear him pour his grievances to Mother about how I was falling into bad company, and how he wished that I were more like Arjuna, instead of following Duryodhana around. Yet, as much as he slighted my choice of friends, he would sit near my head, stroke my hair, and hold my hand, weeping silent tears, while I pretended to be asleep. These instances of paternal affection, though few and rare, made me happy and filled me with warmth, though they also hardened my jealousy of Arjuna. I knew he loved me more than anyone else in the world. I knew all that he was undertaking, was for my happiness and well-being. Yet, I was never able to get over the fact that he believed I was not as skilled as Arjuna. I was never able to accept the fact that Arjuna was getting the concern and the attention that I thought I deserved.

That night when I butchered the Pandava camp, with the Chandrahaas in my hand, it was as though the Mahadev himself had entered my body and led me to avenge the fallen of our camp including Father. I did not think twice before I sneaked into their camp and slew them all. There was only one thought on my mind then – to retaliate. To avenge my kith and kin. To make the enemy pay for what they had done including killing my Father. When I realized later, that I had killed not the Pandavas but their sons, I was contrite and headed towards Sage Vyasa’s ashram where I intended to do penance and calm my mind. However, when I saw Arjuna along with the rest of the Pandavas, charging towards me with retribution on their minds, my anger knew no bounds. I invoked the Brahmastra and uttered those ominous words;

“I infuse thee, this blade of grass, 

with the power of the Brahmastra, 

for the annihilation of the Pandavas and Krishna.”

I knew that Arjuna would invoke an astra to counter mine and he did. But when ordered by Vyasa Maharishi to recall the weapons, I was unable to, unlike Arjuna. I was unable to recall the astra that my Father had taught me because he had not trusted me enough with the knowledge to recall the astra. He had revealed to me only partial knowledge of invoking the astra, while imparting the full knowledge of the astra to his favoured pupil – Arjuna.

Overridden yet again by partiality, filled with a sense of helplessness and driven by jealousy and rage, I redirected the weapon to the womb of Uttara, towards the unborn heir of Abhimanyu, and the future of the Pandava lineage. Condemned for this cowardly and dastardly act, I roam these lands now, cursed to live the life of a leper, unloved and castaway by all, awaiting redemption.

The bloodshed of the Great War that I was a part of was prophesied during the Ksheerasagara Madhanam, the churning of the great ocean of milk. Springing forth from the Halahal that Lord Mahadev drank, to save the universe, the Vish-Purush that I embodied, was blessed so, stating I would kill brutal Kshatriyas during the Dwapara Yuga.

I was born therefore, as Ashwatthama, one of the chiranjeevis, in the lineage of the great sage Bharadwaj.

I was birthed as a Brahmin. I lived as a Kshatriya. And I am condemned as a slayer.

For all these were preordained. For this is how this magnum opus is meant to be played out.

I have executed my part to perfection and now, I await the warrior with his blazing sword on his great white steed, to grant me deliverance.

To usher me into the Satya Yuga, to the start of time again, wherein, I shall be honoured as a Saptarishi.

For this is the circle of my life, with no beginning and with no end.