Bhanumathi - The Mahabharata Chronicles #13

They said women aren’t allowed on the battlefield. And yet here I am! Fighting my way through the mounds of dead bodies, the stench of rotting flesh and the cawing of the vultures.

My eyes are weary of searching, my limbs are aching and a sense of dread has caught hold of my heart. I am hoping against hope that he is not here, in this blood strewn battlefield. I don’t think I can see him like this. In my heart, I know he is gone. His fate was sealed that dratted day in the sabha. And yet I hope! Maybe, I thought wrong. Maybe the gods decided to give him one last chance.

Samantapanchaka… I heard a whisper. Duryodhana lies at Samantapanchaka, the winds whisper. Or was it the spies?  I am not sure. I am not sure of anything anymore. I only know now that my feet are leading me towards the lakeshore.

I was but a naïve girl when Duryodhana abducted me. I was scared, cowering inside the chariot of the boorish man who had held me by force, furiously pegging his horses to ride faster and away from the other kings. His ally, Karna, was behind us, fighting the horde that had descended upon us. Once the dust had settled and we had crossed into the territories of Hastinapura, he had all but turned into a tongue-tied prince.

He soon put me at ease, and won over my confidence. Away from the prying eyes, he was a caring husband, a trustworthy confidant and someone who always treated me as his equal in most matters. He always asked me for my opinion, he always confided in me his worst fears. He told me stories of his childhood, of favouritism shown by the teachers, of being bullied by Bhima, of somehow always managing to end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. He told me of his first love, Subhadra, and the story of how it ended.

[Pic courtesy: http://life.paperblog.com/bhanumathi-the-forgotten-wife-752527/]

Over the years that I have known Duryodhana and been by his side, I have only twice walked away from him. Once during the fateful day at the Sabha, when I was pregnant with my twins and the other when war was declared against the Pandavas.

That fateful day at the Sabha, when Duryodhana forbade me to step out of my chambers in spite of what I heard, when my maids told me in hushed whispers what had transpired, and when I couldn’t take the deafening silence anymore, I walked towards the sabha.

The sight that greeted me, shook me to my very core. I saw Draupadi, her hair loose, her clothes sullied and torn, her tear-streaked face and the look in her eyes. At that moment, I was scared. Scared for my life, for the lives of my unborn children and for the life of the man I loved. The man who now sat upon the Crown-Prince’s throne, baring his thigh! I knew not, what came over me. I rushed to Panchali, fell at her feet and begged for my husband’s life as did all the other wives whose husbands had sinned that day. I threw the most repulsed glance I could muster at Duryodhana that day and in that glance, I hoped I conveyed what I felt. I left for my father’s palace the very same day, having no wish to stay upon at Hastinapur.

Of course, I came back after much pleading and promises that everything would be set right. In my heart, I knew that the wheels that had been set in motion, could not stop what had to occur. I still came back because of the man I loved.

The second time was after war had been declared against our kinsmen. I told him what a wicked man, Shakuni mama was. He disregarded my words stating that his uncle was the only one who stood by him all through the years. I argued, cajoled, begged and pleaded trying to make him see reason. But to no avail. There was no way my words were reaching him. Gone was the man, whom I had loved once, who fathered our children, who was a fine and just king, a good son, a loving brother, a caring husband and a trustworthy friend.

In Duryodhana, I now saw a broken man. I saw a man, who was plagued by insecurities falsely planted in his mind, since childhood; who in his weakest moments turned into someone he had no control over. A man, who would lay his life down if the people he believed in asked him to do so and a man who was coerced into doing so.  My husband was a strong man, but he was also someone who was easily influenced by others. He was a fine warrior but only an amateur strategist. And hence, he was someone who could always be taken advantage of.

And now in the far distance, I see him!

Broken. Shattered. Vulnerable. Helpless. A far cry from the man that I knew of.

This image of him, I cannot bear to see.

In my mind, he will always be the swashbuckling prince who abducted me at my swayamvar. He will always be the shy gentleman, who knew not what to do with me once he had gotten me back to Hastinapur.

And in my mind, he will always be that man who walked down the path of unrighteousness and never found his way back. 

Subhadra - The Mahabharata Chronicles #11

Her eyes kept following the toddler as he made his way through the room. He was crawling towards Panchali who was cooing to him and beckoning him forth. He tried to stand up, took a few tentative steps and wobbled as he was reaching towards her.  Instinctively, her reflexes sprung and she rushed to catch him before he fell.

She needn’t have worried. Draupadi’s strong hands had already caught him.

Her gaze turned towards the First Lady of Hastinapura. The Iron-woman herself. Her luscious hair now tinged grey, the regal bearing intact, she was now cajoling the baby into eating something.

She remembered the first time she had met the queen who reigned over the Pandavas.  The derisive gaze, the haughtiness in her stance, the underlying anger at the new entrant into Arjuna’s life. For her part, she had been meek and subservient, just as Arjuna had asked her to be. Over time, she had formed a cordial yet endearing bond with her. And over the years she had realized that they had much more in common than just Arjuna.

After all, their lives were guided by the same person. Keshava, the unification of the lord of creation and the lord of destruction.

The One who made sure they followed the path of Dharma. At least the Dharma that he said they had to adhere to.

They had both given up their first loves upon his word. They had both let their progeny ride in to the war, knowing fully well that they were riding into meet their death, upon his word.

But now, thinking back she wondered if it had been the right thing. If they should have stood up to him and not just taken him at his word. If all these adversities and the conflict could have been averted had they been allowed to be with the one who had usurped their hearts. But then, Krishna could be more convincing and persuasive than anyone else she knew. She could imagine how he must have persuaded Draupadi to choose Arjuna over Karna, just as he had persuaded her to choose Arjuna over Suyodhana.

Suyodhana.

Even after all these years, her heart skipped a beat when she thought about him.

Her first love. Him with his gentle demeanour and soft nature. Her happiest moments were with him, sitting by the riverside, his head in her lap, talking about all things substantial and trivial, the spells few and far between. He confided everything in her. Of the Pandavas bullying him and his brothers, of the Gurus favouring Arjuna over anyone else, of his immense respect for her eldest brother, Balarama, and about how he had tried everything in his might to ensure cordial relations between the cousins and yet somehow, his plans were foiled every single time.

And then like a flood, the memories fast-forwarded to their home in Dwaraka and Krishna talking to her in that soothing mellifluous voice of his. Persuading her to sacrifice her love for the greater good. Stressing upon her, the part she was tasked to fulfil in the purging of the evil in the world, gently revealing to her who she really was and how she came upon to her present avatar, confiding in her about the manifestations of the Gods and Goddesses and the role they had to play during the transition of the yugas, from the Treta Yuga to the Kali Yuga.

[Pic courtesy: Maha Maya - https://i.ytimg.com/vi/vHKdkS5OZoQ/hqdefault.jpg]

Swayed, she had sacrificed her love for him and embraced the love of another. For the greater good. For that choice of hers was the focal point of gentle Suyodhanas’s transformation to his present moniker, Duryodhana. She had sent Abhimanyu into the war, with a mustered bravado and blessing for a long life which she knew would never ensue. For his demise would be the pivot motivating Arjuna to wreak havoc upon the so-called enemies, his own kith and kin.

And as for Arjuna, even though she was his favoured one, her respect for him diminished that fateful day in the Sabha. The day, the man touted to be the greatest archer, failed to stand up for his first love – Draupadi, succumbing to the actions of the depraved men, binding himself to the trivial words of a king who had staked his own wife as wager in a wrongful game of dice.

She remembered the hollow look in the proud queen’s eyes, the pale face and the simmering rage within. She recalled taking her cold hands into her own, putting her to sleep like she would a small child. She thought of how the once statuesque queen had whimpered and convulsed, reliving those appalling moments.

Like a mother would care for her young, Yoga Maya had comforted the manifestation of Shakti.

And so, it had all begun and ended as the wheel of fate had spun her life into unmanageable twists and turns.

Yet here she was, now a grandmother.

She was drawn back into the present-day, by the young one pulling at her saree, pleading with her to play with him. Her grand-son.

The one who wrested over death while in the womb itself. The one who survived.

For in him, ran the blood of the Matsyas, the Kurus and the Yadavas.

Abhimanyu’s progeny. Parikshit. 

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.  

Shakuni, Prince of Gandhar - The Mahabharata Chronicles #4

He walked along the corridors of the palace, deep in thought. Things were not looking good. The Pitamah and his crony, Vidura were getting suspicious of him. He could sense the distrust; sometimes even see it in their eyes. Something had to be done before things got out of hand. Something really subtle, yet potent.

He remembered his latest meeting with them. They had admonished him again to keep away from his nephews. They had not minced any words either when they ordered him to head back to his own kingdom. He had bristled at that thought. His eyes glinted with malice. But as always, he had kept his sentiments to himself and meekly mumbled something about missing his sister too much. He had also added for good measure, that his kingdom was being well run even in his absence. And as always, Bhishma had looked straight into his eyes, with that discerning stare of his, as if he knew exactly what was going on in his mind.

He loathed the Pitamah. Ever since, his sister had been forced to marry the blind king, and she had taken upon herself the oath to bind her eyes as well, his dislike of the grand-sire had just increased. She didn’t deserve this life.

Gandhari. His sister. Princess of Gandhar. A lady of great perseverance. A true Kshatriya Princess. The determination in her was a given. It was evident in her manner of speaking, in her bearing. The way she carried herself, you could see that she was of high patronage and that it was royal blood that flowed in her veins. Wooed and courted by various princes from the surrounding kingdoms, she was a great queen in the making.

Shakuni had always admired his sister. She was his favourite and he hers. As a kid, when Hastinapura had laid siege and slaughtered the kingdom of Gandhar, his entire clan had nearly been wiped out. Brother and sister had sought out each other then and she was the one who had protected him and whispered soothing words to calm his frightened self. Years later when Bhishma had brought forth the proposal to his father for her to be wedded to Dhritharashtra, the blind king, he had ranted and raved. He had even gone to the extent of waging a war again. He did not want his sister to marry a blind king especially one from the Kuru clan, however strong and good-hearted he was. His sister however begged to differ. She had seen what had ensued the previous time her father had refused to accept Hastinapura’s conditions. Worried that she may have to witness a bloodbath again and losing too much in the prospect, she had agreed to marry the blind king. But she didn’t do so silently. Under the reasoning that she wanted to share the pain her husband was suffering, she took a red cloth and tied her eyes, to shut herself out from the world. For the rest of her life she would be so.

His sister’s action was a message to the young boy. He knew that she didn’t agree willingly. He knew that even before setting her eyes on the Kuru prince, she had blindfolded herself. He wanted to retaliate. He wanted to avenge the humiliation that his clan was undergoing at the hands of the Kuru family. He swore to bring about the downfall of the entire line of Kurus. And to ensure that they knew what the agony of seeing their loved ones suffer was.

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

Master of sorcery, skilled dice player, black magic aficionado, and a mind-game expert, he had planted himself into the folds of the Kuru family, first as a brother who couldn’t stay apart from his sister, and then as a well-wisher to the sons of his sister – his nephews. Mastermind that he was, slowly he had poisoned the young and hapless minds of the young kids. He found himself in a fix when he realized that the kids would always follow their eldest brother. But then, Kunti had come back to the palace from the forest, with her five sons and he had gotten his golden chance. Steadily, he had created an air of uneasiness in the minds of the young Kauravas about their cousins. It had worked exceptionally well and much more than he had expected. The rest of Gandhari’s sons had just followed. And thus an everlasting animosity was born.

Over the years he had slowly instigated the cousins vehemently against each other much to the displeasure of the family elders and sometimes even his sister. However, the thirst for revenge was stronger than ever and he was unshaken in his quest. He always made sure that none could squarely place the blame on him for any mishap and had always stayed in the background ministering his intentions through the Kaurava brothers.

Standing at the side-lines, he had ensured that there were planned attempts on the lives of the “kind-hearted children of Pandu” and that the source of the blame always rebounded to the “malevolent children of Gandhari”. Working hard and ably, using his wiliness and sorcery, he had strengthened his hold over the 100 sons of Gandhari.  He had unhurriedly created an aura of evilness around the entire clan. It wasn’t that he liked Kunti’s sons any better. His plan was to ensure that the entire line of the Kurus perished.

But now, he could feel the Pitamah’s eagle eyes on him all the time. He knew that the old man was wary of him and always kept watch over him cagily. He needed to act soon. He needed to plan something that could strike terror in the hearts of the Kurus.

And then he got his opportunity.

He learnt that Duryodhana had been insulted at the Indraprastha palace by Draupadi and he was seething. He realized that if he planned this right, he could start something that snowball into the climax that he had always envisioned. He soothed and rubbed his eldest nephew’s shoulders all the while guaranteeing that he would have a chance at revenge soon. And imperceptibly he told Duryodhana of his strategy.

Invite the Pandavas to Hastinapura for a friendly game of dice. Let Yudhishthira play for the Pandavas while he played on behalf of the Kauravas. And then behold the scene that unfolds.

The plan was put in place. The invitations were sent out and accepted. The whole family would be gathered to see the debacle that would befall them.

It was all coming together now.

He rubbed his hands in glee. Smiled wickedly.

Threw his favoured dice into the air. The dice that never disobeyed him. The dice that he had fashioned and imbued with vengeance against the Kuru family. The dice that would wreak havoc and make a mockery of the family that he despised.

This was his chance. His ultimate gamble. The one that he knew he could never lose.

He knew the rules of the game. And he played them better than anyone else.

         

“Two sixes” he called out.

Two sixes fell.