Karna - The Mahabharata Chronicles #17 - Part 2

Dambodhbhava meditated with just one single thought in his mind. He was invoking Surya with a specific intention. He wanted to conquer all the three worlds and become the all supreme King or God, if he so pleased.  Surya observed the man meditating upon him. He could sense that there was something amiss about this hardcore penance. Sooner or later, he would have to appear in front of him and give him what he sought.

He finally bestowed his presence and appeared before Dambodhbhava. After the usual prostrations of prayer and blessings, Surya asked his devotee what he sought. The king looked at him slyly and said what was in mind.  Immortality. Surya shook his head and said that he could not grant that particular boon but asked the king to choose anything else instead. This was the chance that Dambodhbhava was waiting for. He knew that immortality was not a boon that would be granted, and therefore his plan was entirely different.

He looked up at the sun-god and laid down the specific conditions of the boon he sought.

One - he had to be bestowed a thousand armors.

Two - the armors would be invincible to the extent that only a person who has undergone rigorous penance for a thousand years could break the armor and kill him.

And finally, three - whoever broke his armor, would fall dead the next instant.

This was a boon akin to immortality and Surya knew it. There was no choice but to grant it and ensure that down the years, someone would make the asura realize his folly.

Years passed and Dambodhbhava’s atrocities grew. He plundered kingdoms, and harassed everyone including the Devas, wreaking havoc in all the worlds. As his notoriety spread and fear ensued, people started calling him – Sahasrakavacha – the one with a thousand armors.  

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Murti looked at her sons. They were the very epitome of calm, unlike other children their age. More so, they were unlike any other children she had ever seen. Their actions mirrored each other as well as their thoughts. They had an innate sense of understanding and what one was thinking, the other would be doing it. They were but for all purposes one soul in two bodies. She could see them now, one practicing archery and the other meditating. She could sense their minds attuned to the same wavelength. They were preparing for what was coming their way. For their purpose on earth was far bigger than anything else. Her husband had made that mighty clear to her. And she was attuned to it too.

Nara, pulled back his bow string, locked in his arrow and glanced at his brother. As if he could sense his mother’s and brother’s eyes on him, Narayana, opened his eyes and looked at them. The brothers smiled in unison at their mother and went back to their actions.

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News of course travelled fast, and it was not long before Dambodhbhava heard the story of the ascetic brothers and visited them. He sought them out in the dense forest and took in their appearances and the surroundings they were in. Looking at the sinewy sages, he haughtily invited them to a duel.

Narayana looked at Nara. This was the moment they were waiting for. Nara took up his arms and charged at Dambodhbhava, who was now in his true demonic form. The fight went on for a thousand years with neither of them yielding. At one point when it looked like Sahasrakavacha was getting the upper hand, Nara, took a swinging blow and the asura’s first armor broke. And with that, Nara dropped dead. Sahasrakavacha was astounded. More than Nara falling dead, he was stunned to see his armor break. As soon as Narayana saw Nara dead, he ran to him and whispered a mantra. And Nara woke up right as rain and steady on his feet.

                                  [pic courtesy: https://www.quora.com/Was-Karna-the-reincarnation-of-the-demon-Dambhodbhava]

Sahasrakavacha could not believe his eyes. If losing his first armor was a bolt out of the blue to him, this was nothing less of a shock. He understood then that the brothers had undertaken rigorous penance and received the Maha Mrityunjaya Mantra as a boon from Lord Shiva. He understood the essence of the duel now. This time, Narayana took up his arms and Nara sat down to meditate.

Another thousand years. Another armor. Another resurrection.

This went on until there 999 armors broke. When the 999^th armor broke and Nara fell dead, the demon king ran for refuge to the bestower of his boon - Surya.

Narayana soon revived Nara and the two sages gave chase to the king.

Surya stood in front of them with folded hands and told them that, the asura was his devotee and since he had sought asylum at his feet, he could not hand over Sahasrakavacha to the sages. Blinded with anger, the sages cursed Surya that he would be born as a human in the Dvapara Yuga. Surya agreed for he knew what lay ahead as did all the Gods in the pantheon.

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Surya now looked at the young man, rushing towards the avatars of Narayana and Indra, the trails blazing beneath his chariot wheels. There were just a few hours left for sunset, and unfortunately what would be this soul’s last battle on earth.

Or maybe it was fortunate in a way. Who was to know?

[to be continued]

Karna - The Mahabharata Chronicles #17 - Part 1.

The sunlight glinted off his chest. The armor shone like burnished gold against his taut arms. It had seen plenty of battles and yet it hadn’t lost its shine, leave alone a scratch upon it. It still shone like new. Over years it had melted into him, almost becoming one with his self. He knew it had yet to see the biggest and the most important battle of its time. 

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Narayana looked at Nara, sharpening his weapons. Preparing himself for the gruesome days ahead. He could see the resigned look on his face, as though he was being pushed to do something against his will. Neither of them had much choice. This battle that they would ride into, would be the harbinger of dharma. And for that, blood had to be shed. Mother Earth had to be appeased, for all the adharma that had sapped out her benevolence. In a lot of ways and for a lot of people this would be the culmination of their chance at moksha or yet another few lifetimes of nibhandana.

Nara looked at Narayana and a message of deep understanding passed through them.

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He could sense his end was nearing. There were plenty of flashes about his past that came in his dreams. And the two men who frequented it. They adorned ascetic garb, yet there was something quite regal about their bearing. Their eyes shone with ancient wisdom and their actions seemed like one mirrored the others’ thoughts. For all purposes, it seemed like they were one soul in two bodies.

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Surya looked down at his progeny. The one he had sworn to protect. The one who had sought asylum in him when he knew that his end was nearing. And yet after a few hundred years, when The Preserver had come to him, seeking that his amsa be sent to Earth to play a part in the circumstances that would lead to the end of the Dwapara Yuga and the beginning of the Kali Yuga, he had seen it as a chance to save his devotee from eternal damnation as well as liberation from his promise and curse. A promise that he had not really thought through when he had granted it. A curse that he had no choice but to bear. He still shuddered at the thought of it and the havoc it could have caused, had it not been for the sages.

Now was his chance to set things right.

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It was the 11^th day.

This war had taken a major toll on both sides. The great-sire Bhishma had fallen and Drona was now commander as per his suggestion to his friend.

When Drona fell on the 15^th day, he knew that the onus was upon him. His king was counting on him. And he couldn’t let him down. But more than that, this was his time in the sun. This was the moment he was waiting for, to show the world who the better warrior was. To showcase his prowess and finally gain the recognition he was seeking for.

[Art by jubjubjedi on Deviantart]

His time to shine had finally come. He rode into battle in full glory. He had his eyes only on one target. But to get to him would be a mammoth task and he knew it. He had many hurdles in his way and he had to cross each one of them, making sure that the promises he had given were kept. He had had to use his Shakthi against Ghatotkacha, but he still had plenty of weapons to ensure that he slew his target. Mindful of the promises he had given, the charity that was forced upon him, he rode into battle on the 16^th day and wreaked havoc.

On day 17, he finally came face to face with his nemesis.

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He saw them riding into the battlefield, towards him, the flag of Hanuman flying high. The chariot being driven by Krishna and Arjuna, his head held high, the focus in his eyes unmistakable. His eyes were playing tricks on him, surely. From the far distance, he thought they were wearing ascetic garbs and not the battlefield armor. He blinked his eyes, the vision too strong and saw them again. They looked remarkably similar to the two men from his dreams. What had he heard them call each other? It was eluding his memory. As soon as they came closer, the mirage cleared and he saw that they were wearing battlefield armor.

Nara! Narayana! He recalled the names in a flash!

He saw the chariot speeding towards him, driven by Narayana while Nara took up arms and readied himself for the battle.

He could see Narayana mouthing a name from the distance.

Sahasrakavacha – the one with a thousand armors.

The irony! 

He had just given away his last armor as charity to Indra.

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[to be continued...] 

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.

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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.

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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.

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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)

Vidura - The Mahabharata Chronicles #15

Na hrishyatyaatmasammaane naavamaanena tapyate

Gaango hrada ivaakshobhyo yah sah pandita uchyate

That one is wise who does not rejoice when honoured, does not become dejected when dishonoured and is not swayed by emotions under the most trying circumstances.       [Vidura Neeti 1.31]

Even as I have followed these words all my life, I sometimes feel the small stirrings of discontentment in me. I thought I had gained control over my uncertainties. Instead I find that as I am growing older, the weight of the older, smothered down resentments are catching up.

My mother named me Vidura.  I doubt if she knew what it meant, for while she was a wise woman, she was not very educated. She probably heard my father mention it in passing and remembered it. My father is Veda Vyasa, son of sage Parashara, my grandmother is Queen Mother Satyavati. My mother, Parishrami, was a maid-in-waiting to the queens of Hastinapura. Vyasa had come to Hastinapura at the beckoning of his mother, Queen Mother Satyavati, to extend the lineage of the Kurus. I was, perhaps a mishap then, for one of the queens sent my mother to serve him instead of herself. My mother, handed me over to Bhishma, I heard, as soon as I was born and slipped quietly into the shadows of the palace to resume her duties. I rarely saw her in the palace, always inconspicuous, but making sure that I had timely food and that I had nothing to complain about. I didn’t really miss her presence, having never really had the privilege of knowing her. As for my father, I heard plenty of legends about him, but I never really had the fortune to know or meet him.

In the eyes of Hastinapura, I was the half-brother of Dhritarashtra and Pandu. I was treated the same way as them, I was given the same lessons in warfare and in the scholarly arts. I was taught by Bhishma himself in the arts of weaponry and by other renowned teachers in the kingdom as well as those who visited us from far and wide. At the palace, I was never made to feel insignificant. Bhishma took care of that. Outside, it was a different story altogether. I have had people taunt me because of my low-caste, bully me and even poke fun at me. But those words that you read above, have always been my motto in life.

Today, however, I am seething with anger. I have held on to my tongue for as long as I can remember, only speaking out when it’s of utmost importance and within my duty as the Prime Minister of Hastinapura. But things have gone too far along now to stop the chain of events from transpiring. I did try with all my might and the powers vested in me, however, I couldn’t. Today, when Duryodhana insulted me in front of all present, accusing me of favouring Krishna and the Pandavas, it was then that my rightful place in the kingdom was revealed to me. My half-brother, the king didn’t speak a word during the proceedings, and just kept quiet while his eldest-born cast aspersions on my birth, my character and my role in shaping Hastinapura. He talked of me as though I was obligated to the kingdom, because of the Prime Minister’s post I held.

What Duryodhana, failed to understand, however, was that I was in no way obligated to Hastinapura. I was neither a Kshatriya nor of royal blood. I was never appointed for any specific post in the kingdom. I self-appointed myself as the advisor to the king, purely because he was my half-brother and disabled, and thus became the de-facto prime minister of the country. I only always advised the king and the sabha on matters of Dharma and the right way to do it. Whenever the righteous path was being veered away from, I strove to bring the wayward back to the virtuous path. Sometimes I failed, sometimes I succeeded. But mostly, I failed.

[Pic Courtesy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vidura]

In body, I may be mortal, cursed to be only a kingmaker, never a king even while having the qualities to rule and sustain a kingdom, by Sage Mandavya, whom I punished for a transgression he did as a small boy. But in thought, actions, words and deeds, I uphold the post of Dharmaraja, the title given to me by the celestials. And it is always those that will be reflected in whatever I do. In this mortal role of a kingmaker, I, the amsa of Dharmaraja, the Lord of Justice, have always strived to adhere to the written and unwritten laws and striven to stick to a harmonious outcome, bearing no ill-will towards my kith and kin. But then, being a mortal does bring with it its own fallacies, doesn’t it? Self-doubt being one of the primary ones that rankle me.  

Maybe I was not a good enough prime minister and advisor. Maybe I failed in my dharma, or maybe Dharma failed me at opportune times, probably for a higher reason, I am not privy to yet. Maybe these turbulent times could have been averted had I learnt to keep my mouth shut when I should have and advised my half-brothers better in times of their needs and indecisiveness. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Duryodhana be pampered so much by his parents, maybe I should have more focused-on imparting what I know to my brother’ children. Maybe I should have controlled my temper, yet again, when Duryodhana provoked me, yet again. Maybe I should have expressed my interest, in spite of no pressure from the kingdom, to fight in the war. Would we maybe have won then, with my war tactics pitted against Krishna’s?  Would Krishna have maybe taken up arms and fought in the war, to counter my infallible bow? 

Everyone knows me as an intelligent man, upholder of Dharma, and a good strategist. Not many, however, know that I am also a skilled archer and that my bow, Govardhan, was a gift from Lord Vishnu himself, against which none stood a chance, not even Arjuna.

But, of course, Krishna knew that.

For today, in the Sabha, when I broke my bow against the words hurled against me and with that, cost Duryodhana this war, the war which could have gone either way, I saw him smile. This was probably one of his masterstrokes, his doings, as are many that I have heard and some, that I have seen first-hand.

Then, maybe this is all pre-ordained. Destined to be so. And we are all mere puppets in the hands of the Preserver himself. And me, I should stick to my duty of an advisor, and a listener for like the wise me before me have said, you can only take a horse to the water, you cannot force it to drink it.

Some call me a wise man. Some call me a pragmatist. Some say I am calm and collected while many others have said that I may not be what I seem.

Me? I call myself an ordinary man. One who has learnt to be content with what has been destined for him. 

For, I have learnt that “He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have.”

And so, I will always be me. 

Just as I am. 

Just as I was.

Abhimanyu - The Mahabharata Chronicles #14

Soma looked down on the battlefield.

Today is the 12^th night of the war at Kurukshetra. Soon it will be the 13^th day and a much important one at that, for it is then that Varchas turns 16. The day he will come back to me. I have missed him so much these last few years.

For 16 years, I have been separated from my son. I have pined for him. I have wondered whether it was a mistake to send him down as a human, as my amsa, for the greater good.

Like I have been doing every night for the last 16 years, I peek down through the shimmery curtains, at his taut form. The warrior that he has become. Progeny of Nara. Nephew to Narayana. And trained in the martial arts by the Yadavas themselves. Does he sense my presence? Does he remember that his father is yearning for him? Or is he in all senses a true Kshatriya prince now, about to become a father himself?

Oh! How I remember that conversation with Narayana, when he came to me asking for Varchas to be incarnated as a warrior to cleanse the earth. I remember how hesitant I was. I was wondering what would be the politest way to refuse The Lord himself. I couldn’t be away from my boy for a fraction of a second, he was my favourite after all. But Narayana was insistent. He was very convincing and his persuasive powers were of course legendary. I was ready to give in, but I had a few conditions of my own.

---- X ----

Krishna looked up at Chandra. He could see the moon-god smiling in all his glory. It was evident that he was happy, for after all, his beloved son was returning home the next day.

He looked at Abhimanyu. Warrior Prince. Draupadi’s favourite son of all the Pandava offspring even if he wasn’t her own. The blood of the Pandavas and the Yadavas ran in him. He was so skilled that he could probably take on the entire army of Kauravas and disintegrate them. Married to crown-princess Uttara, he was about to father the first grandchild of two historic empires. He had so much to look forward to. And yet his life would end even before it began.

---- X ----

I saw Krishna looking up at me, his face scrunched up enigmatically. I sent his way a flutter of breeze, gently reminding him of his promise to me, and the conditions that applied to it.

When I agreed to let Varchas be incarnated, I wanted him to be born into the mightiest empire there was. I wanted the blood of Nara to run in his veins. Krishna did even better, he ensured that the boy would have the bloodlines of both Nara and Narayana himself.

I also asked for him to be returned to me after 16 years. I knew I was asking him to be returned to me in his prime, but I couldn’t let myself be away from him longer than that. Krishna agreed. He also ordained that the boy would be one of the mightiest warriors the world would see and that he would be the fulcrum for the great war that was to ensue.

I knew Varchas was in safe hands and agreed to Narayana’s words.

With a heavy heart, I sent down my son.

---- X ----

Krishna thought back to the time when Abhimanyu was conceived.

He realized that he had more than one reason to agree to Chandra’s demands, though it became clearer to him only then. Subhadra unknowingly had knocked open a box he had hidden, thereby unleashing the soul of King Kalayavan, whom Krishna had imprisoned inside. The soul looking for a place to hide, had taken refuge in Subhadra’s womb attaching itself to the foetus inside.

Abhimanyu was not yet born when he overheard Arjuna talking to Subhadra and explaining to her about war strategies. Narayana could sense his eagerness to hear more and he could see that the baby was comprehending each and every word spoken. He could see that the foetus was straining to catch every syllable so as to not miss anything. In order to thwart the knowledge falling into his hands, much before he may have been due to learn it, He used his powers to lull Subhadra to sleep, thus putting a stop to the war tactics being discussed.

Precocious child Abhimanyu was. His head was always held high, his stature tall and his demeanour a tad proud, owing to the blood that ran in his veins. After all, there were very few who could take on the combined strength of the Yadavas and the Pandavas. Inquisitive about everything, and keen to learn, he grasped mastery over weapons, war tactics and strategies much quicker than anyone I knew. The reason lay in his previous birth, when he was a much-feared king. After all, old habits do die hard. Once in a while, Krishna could discern a gleam in his eyes, a simmering anger, a sort of restlessness as though something was trying to escape him. He sensed that there was one way he could provide liberation to the trapped soul as well as fulfil Chandra’s conditions.

---- X ----

The 13^th day dawned.

Hiding in the shadows of Surya, I looked down at the unfolding scene.

The time of reckoning drew near.

Promising to protect his uncle, Yudhisthira, Abhimanyu tried to break into the Chakravyuha, created by Drona, the great teacher himself. The Pandavas, unable to follow him through the momentary gap, soon found themselves crying out for him and his safety.

Nara and Narayana were occupied at one end of the battlefield, while their disciple wreaked havoc at the other end.

My son was unstoppable that day. He rampaged through the Kaurava forces, killing whoever came in his way, counting several maharathis as well as injuring the greatest of the Kaurava warriors including Karna and Duryodhana. The Kauravas were astounded by his prowess and in a fit of frustration and fury, broke one of the cardinal rules of war.

[Pic Courtesy: http://aroundtheworldin80nights.blogspot.sg/2012/07/chakravyuha-deadliest-of-formations-and.html]

Seven elite warriors, all great in their own right, attacked my son together. More rules were broken in the wake of the first one; when his bowstrings were cut from behind, his steeds killed and his charioteers too. Forced to fight on foot, protecting himself with a sword and a shield, my son raced forth. They broke his sword, and shattered his shield.  Powerless now, he looked around and picked up a chariot wheel and charged at them, but they broke that too. He picked up a mace and killed as many people as he could, displaying more strength and valour than any of the cowards around him. However, while combating with Dusshasana’s son, tired, decimated and injured beyond compare, he knocked out his opponent and fell to the ground in a swoon as well. But before he could come to, his opponent who had awakened, struck him on his head and killed him.

In those last few moments, I could see the light ebb out of my son’s eyes. The gleam dimmed, a small whiff of breath escaped him, and through that the soul of Kalayavan attained Moksha for having fought on the righteous side.

Knowing that he was now truly Varchas in form, deed and glory, Chandra remembered Nara’s blessings to Abhimanyu, when they first set out for war.

“Yashasvi Bhava”

“May you attain eternal success with no obstacles in the way of achievement.”

Abhimanyu’s heroic death would now be the pivotal point which ensured the deaths of the unrighteous because of the traitorous means engaged to slay him.

My son achieved glory as a warrior should on the battlefield. He died fighting till his last breath and he would forever be remembered as the greatest warrior who fought for righteousness and demolished a fourth of the Kaurava army all by himself. 

Dhritarashtra - The Mahabharata Chronicles #10

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.”

[Image Courtesy: http://topyaps.com/top-10-characters-of-mahabharata] 

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.”