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.”

Pritha - The Mahabharata Chronicles #6

I was named Pritha.

Pritha. Meaning the well-endowed one.

Pritha. Birth Daughter of Surasena. Foster daughter to KuntiBhoja. Sister of Vasudeva. Paternal aunt to Lord Krishna. Mother of the Pandavas.

Individualistic. Willful. Righteous. Intractable.

Born into a clan of kingmakers. Wedded into a clan of kings and rulers.

This was how people spoke of me. This was how they described me.

I was given up in early childhood, to my father’s cousin, Kunti Bhoja who was childless. He took care of me as his own daughter, lavishing upon me all affection and care. Brought up in all ways befitting the princess of an illustrious kingdom and trained in all matters of administration of a kingdom as well as in warfare, I was allowed the indulgence of being independent right from a young age. However, the fact that I was only an adopted daughter of the family still irked me from time to time. In my heart and soul, I was still a Vrishni.

When I was young, my foster-father entrusted to me the duty of looking after the irascible sage, Durvasa. I duly did so, and pleased with my services he offered me a boon. Naïve girl that I was, I asked him to bless me with a boon that would be useful to me in my future life. The all-knowing one blessed me with a mantra that would enable me to beget progeny from celestials. I did not know of the course my life would take then. Soon after, I chose King Pandu at my swayamvar. While this was an easy decision to make, I realized soon that my life was fraught with difficulties. I was forced to share my husband with another princess, unparalleled in beauty, soon after my marriage. Scared of the fact that his family line would not flourish after having been cursed by Rishi Kindama, he begged me to undergo niyoga with other men and beget children in order to carry forward the Kuru lineage. The scriptures did allow this and so I let him know of the boon I had received. He was thrilled and upon his requests, I soon became mother to three strapping young boys – Yudhishthira (son of Dharma), Bhima (son of Vayu) and Arjuna (son of Indra). I was also asked to share the boon with Madri who then proceeded to invoke the Ashwini Kumaras and was blessed with Nakula and Sahadeva. It was a happy time in the forests for a short while until I was witness to Pandu’s death, owing to his lack of self-control and Madri’s by Sati. It was in my Dharma to go the same way as her, but the onus of looking after our five sons fell upon me.

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

I had to provide for their well-being, and so I went back to the kingdom that my husband had renounced.  The same kingdom that then questioned the parenthood of my sons. The same kingdom that was now ruled by a king birthed from a Suta. And whose lineage descended from a fisherwoman. They had the audacity to question me on the parenthood and the caste of my sons. I did not deem it fit to answer their questions. My only answer to them in the face of all their questions was that my sons had an equal right to the throne, Yudhishthira being the eldest of all the crown princes. It was an arduous task to put up with the politics, scheming and the jealousy that we encountered in the palace.  Over the years, adversaries made innumerable attempts on our lives. I could not pretend to be unaware of what was happening; neither could I afford to be tolerant of the same.  I had to be vigilant and ensure that I always stayed one-step ahead of the scheming parties. I managed this largely, due to the support and help received from Vidura, friend and confidant as well as the unquestioning nature of my sons.

For my sons, I was both their father and mother. And I never made them feel otherwise. They abided by my suggestions, took my opinion on everything and never ever strayed away from what I told them to. To them, my word was the be-all and end-all of all things said and done. I was their guiding force and their partner-in-crime over the years of struggles and obstacles. To say that we have been through a lot would be an understatement.

You know me as the mother of the Pandavas. You talk of me as the woman who made her sons share their wife, between the five of them. You speak of me as the woman who without any second thoughts cast away her newborn son into the river. You identify me as the spineless person, who offered the same son, the kingdom and the illustrious daughter in law as his wife, knowing that he had loved her once, provided he came over to the side of Dharma. You declare that I was the sole reason that a son cursed the entire women clan that we would not be able to keep any secrets. You proclaim me as the villain who brought forth fratricide between children of the same family.

I agree; I am guilty of all this and much more.

I AM the mother of Pandavas. I brought up my sons fairly and justly, instilling in them a sense of Dharma as well as my own individualistic spirit and tenacity. I motivated them to be masters of their own being, while being persistent in their unity in face of adversity. I taught them of the rights and wrongs, ensuring that their skills and morality would hold them in good stead.

Yes, I am the woman who made her sons share their wife, between the five of them. The strength of my sons lay in their unity. United they were an unbreakable force, a power to be reckoned with. Divided, none would even see light of the day. The lust in each of their eyes upon sighting the renowned princess of Panchala, made me realize how much they all craved her. Hence, I ensured that they all got married to the same woman. That she was the driving force behind the course of my sons’ lives. That she would be the one they would now be answerable to, and the one who would propel them towards their destiny. I could now leave them in safe hands and step back.   

I am also the person who without any second thoughts cast away her firstborn son into the river, fearing scorn of the society and ruin of the family honor. I cannot truly justify this act in any way, but I can only say this in my defense. Curiosity got the better of me and I invoked the mantra that I was blessed with. I called down Arka in all his blazing grandeur and was blessed with a boy. He was born in resplendent glory, with his shining kundals and indestructible kavach. However, the thought of tarnishing the family honor scared me out of my wits and with a heavy heart, I gave up the baby and entrusted him to the care of the river goddess. The guilt overwhelmed me, but I was powerless and helpless. For a young virgin princess, upholding the honor of the clan took more weightage at that point than the life she held in her hands. The guilt of letting go of my firstborn always weighs me down, because I could never shower upon him any motherly affections not could I offer him a mothers’ love.

And yes, I am that spineless woman, who then offered the same son, the kingdom and the illustrious daughter in law as his wife, knowing that he had loved her once, provided he came over to the side of Dharma. You will speak of it as my selfishness for without him, Duryodhana’s strongest ally and closest friend, the Kauravas would be weakened. What you may not know was that inwardly, it was also a mother’s last hope to save her first-born and be united with him again. Besides, righting the wrong that I had done to him, it would also save him from certain death in the War of Dharma.  What I did not reckon for was the intractable loyalty that my son took after me. He refused to give up on his friendship and stood staunchly by his friends’ side, even in his death.

I was also the reason that a son cursed the entire women clan that we would not be able to keep any secrets. When my sons heard that they had killed one of their own, they could not bear it. They derided me for keeping this a secret from them for so long. For the first ever time, I saw my sons look at me with something other than love and respect. For the first ever time, I saw them look at me with derision in their eyes. They could not believe that their mother, the one they thought was above all reproach could do something like this. I had my reasons, but my reasons were not good enough for them. The only one who understood me was my nephew, the one who knows all. However, there was not much that he could do for me either.

Fate has a strange way of playing out. I was born into a cursed clan and funnily enough married, into the clan that had originally cursed my ancestors to be kingmakers and not kings. Though married into the kingdom of Hastinapura, I have never ruled happily as its queen. I, who was wedded into the lineage of the Kurus, have never enjoyed sovereignty. My entire existence has been a testament to the follow the one truth that was ingrained into me ever since I was aware.

That the way of the Dharma was the way of life. That the honor of the lineage was my own honor.

It did not matter whether it was the clan that I was born in, or the one that I wedded into. What mattered was that it was my destiny and duty to protect and uphold the integrity of the lineage I belonged to and the one that I was a part of.

My biggest failing lies in the fact that for eons to come, none will ever speak of me as the righteous woman who upheld Dharma even in the toughest times. They will talk of me as the woman who made her sons share their wife. They will speak of me as the woman who without any second thoughts cast away her newborn son into the river. They will identify me as the spineless person, who offered the same son, the kingdom and the illustrious daughter in law as his wife, provided he came over to the side of Dharma. And they will declare that I was the reason that a son cursed the entire women clan that we would not be able to keep any secrets. They will herald me as the villain who brought forth fratricide between children of the same family.

However, my biggest victory lies in the fact that the lineage of Yayati will been united finally. The blood of the Yadus flows through me onto my grandson Abhimanyu, through Arjuna and Subhadra, his parents.

For in the end it all comes down to this, this truth.

“Dharma when cultivated preserves, Dharma when violated destroys.”

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.  

Sahadeva - The Mahabharata Chronicles #3

I have fallen here. Lying down in the dark, caught in the crevices of the vast Himalayan ranges, half-buried by snow. It’s only a few more hours before this test is over and Yudhishthira and the dog finish their climb to ascend Swarga.

I knew this was coming. JUST LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE.

As soon as Draupadi fell, I was anticipating my turn. Next will be Nakula, my twin, followed by Arjuna and then Bheema. Just the canine and eldest brother will not fall. That is no ordinary dog, in case you didn’t realize. That is the God of Dharma, Yudhishthira’s father. He loves testing us so. This is not the first time he has done this. And I am sure Yudhishthira knows this. He is a perceptive one, my brother. He always was.

For the better part of my entire life, I have been quiet. Never to utter a word, until I was spoken to. Never to offer my opinion, until I was asked so. But it wasn’t until father’s death I became so. 

But today, I wish to speak. Because I know now that it doesn’t matter. There is none here who can hear me and none to chastise me if I speak so.

And so, I state my story. In my words.

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My name is Sahadeva. I am the youngest of the Pandavas, son of Madri and Pandu; twin brother to Nakula. We are known as Madreyas, sons of Madri, much like Kunti’s sons were called Kaunteyas. I was born in the forests, where my father Pandu was residing after being cursed to live a life of celibacy. Mother, confided in us later that Nakula and I were the children of Ashwini Kumaras – the gods of sunrise and sunset, the physician gods. I learnt that all of us – the sons of Pandu – were offspring of Gods. It filled me with a sense of importance, thought I can’t really say why.

I loved growing up in the forest. Father, who used to tell us all stories in the evenings, always made me sit on his lap. I was the only one who had that privilege, by virtue of being the youngest. I used to listen to him wide-eyed, of the stories of rishis and sadhus, devas and asuras. I imagined us fighting a war against the asuras and winning it for the devas. But of all the things that father told us, I remembered this one thing very clearly. It seemed a little odd then, but no one questioned him why. He told us to consume his brain after his death. He said that this would give us immense knowledge and make us all wise and astute. I realized later that it was a premonition that he had had, because a few days later Father was dead. And Mother died along with him, blaming his death upon herself. Nakula and I were left stricken until Kunti-ma took us into her fold. From then on, we were known only as the Pandavas, sons of Pandu.

The day that Father died, was the day that I was reborn. At his funeral, I had seen a line of ants scurrying away with what looked like his brain. I could only hear Father’s words clearly resonating in my head. Not one to hesitate and unknown to the rest; I caught the ants and ate the pieces they carried. It was in that instant, I LEARNT EVERYTHING. All that had happened, all that was happening and all that was going to happen. And in my haste, while I was running back to tell the others of what had just transpired, I ran into HIM. HE was in disguise of course, but I saw through it because now I KNEW everything. HE knew that I knew and extracted from me two promises. One to never speak of this to anyone. And the second to counter a question with a question. I, of course understood the reasoning behind it. Immense knowledge had the potential to ruin everything and the cycle of Karma would be hindered. To this day, I don’t know whether this was prudence or folly. In return, as a favour for extracting such a heavy promise from me, I asked HIM to be on the side of the Pandavas as long as we were righteous and adhering to Dharma. HE smiled benignly and agreed.

Father’s death and the subsequent events had brought in me a sea-change and I was no longer the cheeky kid I was. It wasn’t a sudden change. And it wasn’t just any change. For now, I could only talk in my mind. And even when I knew what the future held, there was no way in which I could let others know of what may befall them. The fire at Varnavrata, the attempts on our lives by our cousins, Draupadi’s marriage to all of us, the exile, her humiliation at the sabha, the war that was to come… every single event that would occur!! To say that this was hard would be putting it slightly.

Personally, one of the hardest trials to endure was Draupadi’s humiliation at the sabha. Like the rest of my brothers, I was smitten by her as well and I was the one she would turn to when she wanted to pour out what was troubling her. She couldn’t say so to any of the others and I knew how best to play the part that she expected out of me. I comforted her. I lent her a listening ear. And I always reassured her patiently, that she would be at peace when the tribulations were over.  

I knew that the root cause for all this was right in front of me. I knew I would be the one to bring about his death and because this was meant to happen by my hands, that fateful day at the sabha, I declared so. I swore to thrust the sword that I was adept at handling into the man who was sitting clad in black robes, rolling a pair of dice, chuckling to himself. People were surprised, for I was known to be the meek one. I wasn’t as flamboyant as Bhīma or as gifted as Arjuna. I wasn’t even as loquacious as Nakula or as virtuous as Yudhishthira. I was considered by most to be unremarkable, because of my silence and my inconspicuous persona. It was an act that I had refined because it helped me observe the surroundings and helped me blend into the background as unobtrusively as possible. But the oath that day in the sabha to kill Shakuni, helped me release a little of the burden that I was carrying - the heaviness of the promises I had made, that were weighing on me. And so I did. On the eighteenth day of the war, I did what I vowed. I plunged my sword into his body and stared into his remorseless eyes.

For eras to come, people would talk of this, even call it my moment in the sun. They would talk of this as the highlight of the life that I lived, of the ordinary existence that many believe I tolerated.

For not many know of my story.

I am Sahadeva, the last of the Pandavas and the least known.

You may call me gentle and wise. Yet you may not know of the burden that I bore.

To realize what really was, powerless nonetheless.

Of knowing everything however disallowed to speak out. Of seeing everything yet enforced to accept.

I am Sahadeva, the last of the Pandavas and the least known, and yet… I am the one that knows it all and the one who sees it all.