Every day, before marching into the battlefield, Duryodhana would go to his mother and ask for her blessings and she would say, ‘May the right side win.’ Duryodhana knew that his mother’s word always came true, so he begged her to say, ‘May my sons win,’ but she refused to say so.
But after Bhima had killed ninety-nine of her sons, Gandhari’s maternal instincts got the better of her. ‘Righteous or not, Duryodhana is still our son,’ Dhritarashtra told her.
So Gandhari instructed Duryodhana to take a bath before the crack of dawn and come before her totally naked. ‘I will open my blindfold for the first time since the day of my marriage and look upon you. My eyes, shut for all these years, are filled with the power of my piety and fidelity. Every part of your body that I gaze upon with my first glance will become impervious to weapons.’
Accordingly, Duryodhana removed his clothes, took a bath and walked naked towards his mother’s chambers. On the way, he saw Krishna emerge from the darkness. Krishna looked at his nakedness and laughed, ‘Have some shame. Mother or not, a grown man must at least cover his private parts.’
An embarrassed Duryodhana took a banana leaf and tied it around his waist covering his thighs and genitals. When he came before his mother, she opened her blindfold and saw her naked son. But when she discovered that he had covered some parts of his body, she began to cry, ‘Oh my son. That part of your body that you have covered will remain vulnerable. And that will be your death.’
In fear, Duryodhana ran and hid inside a lake on the far side of the battlefield. Bhima and the other Pandavas spent the eighteenth day, after the death of Shalya, searching for the eldest Kaurava. So long as he was alive, the war was not over. They finally found him hiding inside the lake. ‘Come out, coward,’ shouted Bhima.
‘I am no coward,’ said Duryodhana, rising up. ‘I was just resting my tired limbs so that they can kill you without much effort.’
As Krishna and the Pandavas watched, Bhima and Duryodhana prepared to duel. They were like two wild elephants in heat. Their eyes were red and their massive arms, covered with sweat, shone like pillars of gold in the afternoon sun. Both these warriors had learned the art of mace warfare from Krishna’s elder brother, Balarama. Both were equal in strength. Sure enough, try as he might, Bhima could not subdue Duryodhana. He managed to defend himself deftly, moving his limbs swiftly each time Bhima swung his mace.
As the maces clanged, Bhima turned to Krishna in despair.
Krishna looked straight into his eyes and then slapped his thigh close to his genitals. Bhima realized that this is where Krishna wanted him to strike Duryodhana. But was that not against the rules of war? But Bhima never questioned Krishna’s wisdom. He swung his mace and smashed it where Duryodhana least expected it: below the waist, breaking his thighs and crushing his genitals.
‘This is foul play,’ cried Duryodhana as he fell to the ground. But neither Bhima nor Krishna apologized. ‘Adharma, adharma,’ shouted Duryodhana. He called out to his teacher, Balarama, ‘Come, see, how instigated by your brother this student of yours breaks the code of war to kill me, your favourite.’
Balarama appeared on the battlefield at that very moment and saw the smashed thighs of Duryodhana. Enraged, he raised his plough and threatened to kill Bhima. Bhima bowed his head to receive the blow when Krishna came in between. ‘Those who live by the law of the jungle die by the law of the jungle,’ said Krishna, his voice cold. Balarama saw the dispassionate truth of that statement and lowered his plough.
Duryodhana lay on the ground, unable to stand up or raise his head, bleeding to death, surrounded by all the victors. He mourned his tragic end while the Pandavas let out whoops of victory and jeered their fallen cousin. Bhima, unable to contain his joy, jumped on Duryodhana’s head and began to dance.
‘Stop,’ cried Krishna in outrage. ‘How can you humiliate him so? He is your brother, a king, a warrior. Has he not been punished already? Must you not be gracious in victory?’
A shame-faced Bhima lowered his head and followed his brothers to their battle camp where Draupadi, unable to contain her excitement, was busy making preparations to celebrate this great victory.
As they moved away, Duryodhana called out from behind them and said, ‘All my life I have lived as a prince in the palace and today I die like a warrior on the battlefield. You have spent most of your lives in the forest, like beggars and thieves, hiding in fear, and now you inherit a world of corpses. Who has lived a better life than me? Who has died a better death than me?’
The story of Gandhari’s failed attempt to make her son invulnerable to weapons is similar to the Greek tale of the sea nymph Thetis dipping her son Achilles in the river Styx, so that most of his body except the part she held—his ankles—became impervious to weapons.
Kuru was an ancestor of the Pandavas and he had tilled the land that came to be known as Kuru-kshetra or the field of Kuru. He had used the bull of Shiva, god of asceticism, and the buffalo of Yama, god of death, to pull the plough. He used his own flesh as the seed, thus pleasing the gods who offered him a boon. He asked that the gods allow any man who died on this land into paradise.
Bhasa in his play, Urubhangam, dated 100 CE, introduces a character not known in the epic, Duryodhana’s young son, Durjaya, who on seeing his father wants to sit on his lap but is stopped as Duryodhana’s thigh is broken. The fallen villain, full of remorse, advises his son to serve his victorious uncles, the Pandavas, well.
In Tamil Nadu, the eighteen-day war is ritually enacted during the Terukkuttu performance, in which a giant image of Duryodhana lying on the ground is made out of the earth. On the right thigh is placed a pot full of red fluid. This pot is smashed at the end of the performance by the actor playing Bhima who goes into a frenzied trance. After this ritual, the crowds swarm to take fistfuls of the mud used to make Duryodhana’s image; kept well, it is supposed to protect grain from getting lost or spoilt in granaries.
The gap between ‘what is mine’ and ‘what is not mine’ is an artificial construct, not a natural phenomenon that is created and can be destroyed by the human mind. The animal mind, the Kaurava mind, is unable to fathom this and hence tenaciously clings to land and is filled with rage and fear till the very end. Krishna’s focus is to help the Pandavas outgrow the territorial beast within and realize the divine potential. But it is not easy. Though Krishna helps Bhima defeat Duryodhana, he is unable to teach Bhima empathy for the enemy. For him, Duryodhana remains ‘not mine’. Unless there is empathy and inclusion, dharma cannot be established. Bhima reduces the war to a tale of revenge rather than looking at it as a stimulus for inner transformation.
The Kauravas are villains in the epic only because they refuse to outgrow the animal desire to cling to territory and dominate like an alpha male. Krishna helps the Pandavas undergo the transformation, but as events unfold, one realizes there is a huge gap between the intention and the implementation.
Duryodhana is worshipped as a benevolent deity in Har-Ki-Doon Valley in Uttarakhand. Wooden temples dedicated to the epic villain are found there.
91
Talking head
The sun set for the eighteenth time since the start of the war. The victorious Pandavas returned to the battle camp where they were greeted by a very happy Draupadi who showered upon them fragrant flowers.
Arjuna waited for Krishna to alight from the chariot. But Krishna showed no signs of doing so. This annoyed Arjuna for in keeping with tradition, the charioteer gets down first and only then the archer. An exasperated Arjuna got down from the chariot while Krishna continued to sit. As soon as Krishna alighted, the chariot burst into flames.
Krishna then informed Arjuna that his chariot had long ago been destroyed by Drona. Arjuna realized that the only thing that kept the chariot going was Krishna’s presence. Krishna’s apparent act of disrespect was meant to protect him. So long as Krishna sat on the chariot, it did not burst into flames. Arjuna, smug in victory, thus learnt a lesson in humility. Without Krishna by the
ir side, the Pandavas would never have won.
Soon, the battle camp was filled with the sound of revelry. The soldiers danced and sang as food and wine were served. In the midst of the victory celebrations, a dispute arose among the soldiers as to who of all the Pandavas was the greatest warrior on Kuru-kshetra? Was it Arjuna who killed Bhishma and Karna? Or was it Bhima who killed all the hundred Kauravas?
‘If the answer is so important to you, why don’t you ask the talking head?’ said Krishna.
The talking head was Barbareek, the son of Ahilawati, a Naga princess, who claimed his father was Bhima. There were many who believed that his father was not Bhima but Bhima’s son, Ghatotkacha.
Barbareek had come to Kuru-kshetra armed with just three arrows. ‘With one, I can destroy the Pandavas. With the other, the Kauravas. And with the third, Krishna,’ he said boastfully.
To test his skill, Krishna asked him to shoot all the leaves of a Banyan tree. Everyone watched with wonder as a single arrow released from Barbareek’s bow pierced all the leaves on the tree and then hovered over Krishna’s foot which Krishna had slyly placed over a fallen leaf.
‘On which side do you plan to fight?’ asked Krishna, impressed by the great warrior.
‘On the side of the loser,’ said Barbareek, ‘for only then am I invincible.’
The reply disturbed Krishna. If Barbareek was invincible only when he was on the losing side, he would always support one army until the time it was losing. As soon as his contribution made that side stronger, he would cross over and join the other side. When the Kauravas would be winning, he would fight against them and when they would be losing, he would fight for them. As a result, the war would never reach a conclusion.
To prevent such an eventuality, Krishna came up with a plan. ‘Will you help me?’ asked Krishna, ‘I feel helpless against this warrior who threatens the world.’
Barbareek who could never say no to the helpless replied, ‘Who is it? Tell me and I shall destroy him.’
Krishna immediately showed Barbareek a mirror. ‘Give me the head of this warrior, I beg you.’
Barbareek realized he had been tricked by Krishna but he could not say no. So he severed his head from his body and offered it to Krishna. His only regret was that he would die without witnessing the war of Kuru-kshetra. Divining this, Krishna breathed life into Barbareek’s head. He would see all and hear all, but never be able to participate in anything.
At first, Barbareek’s head was placed on the ground. But each time he found something funny on the battlefield and laughed, he would push back hundreds of galloping war-chariots simply by the force of his laughter. So Krishna placed his head on top of a hill from where he had a panoramic view of the war. ‘He surely has seen more of the war than anyone else. He will answer your question best,’ said Krishna to the Pandava army.
When the soldiers asked the talking head who the greatest warrior in Kurukshetra was, he gave a very strange reply, ‘Bhima? Arjuna? I saw neither. In fact I saw no warrior. All I saw was the Sudarshan Chakra of Vishnu whizzing past and cutting the heads of unrighteous kings. And the blood spilt consumed by the earth who spread out her tongue in the form of Kali.’
When the Pandavas asked for an explanation, it said, ‘Long ago, Vishnu took the form of Prithu, who said that as king he would treat her as a cowherd treats a cow. To ensure harmony between human culture and nature, he established the code of civilization known as dharma based on discipline, generosity and sacrifice. Pleased, the earth took the form of Gauri, the mother, who nourishes life on earth with her bounty. Kings were appointed on earth to institute and maintain dharma in their respective kingdoms. Unfortunately, as the years passed, the kings forgot their primary role as custodians of dharma. They used their power to plunder the earth. An anguished earth, in the form of a cow, went to Vishnu weeping and reminded him of his promise. Vishnu was furious when he saw how the greed of kings had made her udders sore and broken her back. He swore to teach the kings of the earth a lesson. He would descend to earth as Parashurama and Ram and Krishna and kill all those who followed adharma. He told the gentle Gauri to turn into the fearsome Kali and quench her thirst with the blood of all those who greedily squeezed out her milk. Thus, this war is not just about the Pandavas and Kauravas, it is about man’s relationship with the earth. The talking head, placed above the battlefield, saw the violence with a perspective that was much wider than of those in the battlefield.’
A silence descended on the Pandava camp. They realized neither the war nor the victory was their own creation. Both were products of destiny. The celebrations resumed but they were muted. The Pandavas won not because they were better warriors; they won because God wanted them to.
The tale of Barbareek is part of oral tradition in Kerala and Andhra Pradesh. In Rajasthan, he is worshipped as Khatu Shyamji, he who always fights for the loser. The talking head invites everyone to view the war from a wider cosmic perspective. We realize that the war is not merely about two cousins fighting over their inheritance; it is simultaneously about God creating a cosmic balance. No event takes place in isolation; it the culmination of various historical and geographical events. Likewise, current events have a profound influence on the history and geography of the future.
In some traditions, the talking head belongs not to Barbareek but to Iravan, son of Arjuna and Ulupi.
Book Sixteen
Aftermath
‘Janamejaya, in those eighteen days, Gandhari lost all her children and so did Draupadi.’
92
Death of Draupadi’s children
Eighteen days had passed. Eighteen armies had fought. Over one billion, two hundred and twenty million people were killed. Less than twenty-four thousand survived. Of these, only three had fought for Duryodhana: Ashwatthama, son of Drona, Kripa, teacher of the Kuru princes, and Kritavarma, the Yadava.
The three sat in the darkness, close to the lake where Duryodhana lay dying, hearing sounds of the revelry emerging from the Pandava camp. ‘We may have been defeated but they have not yet won,’ said a tearful Ashwatthama unable to bear the sound of laughter and merrymaking.
‘You display such spirit, Ashwatthama!’ Duryodhana groaned, ‘Though born in a family of priests, you display greater spirit than a warrior. You are indeed fit to lead an army.’
Bowing his head, his eyes burning with rage, the son of Drona said, ‘Make me the commander of what is left of your army and I will destroy the Pandavas if it costs me my life.’
‘Do it, if you can,’ whispered the dying Duryodhana, surprised at the rage that burned in his heart even though death stared him in the face. A much pleased Ashwatthama struck the earth with his sword.
‘How do you plan to destroy the victors?’ asked Kripa, ‘We are only three and they are so many.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Ashwatthama, gritting his teeth, ‘but I will. I surely will.’
As the sun set, the three survivors saw an owl land on a tree that stood next to the lake and slowly kill a hundred crows sleeping on its branches. ‘That is how,’ exclaimed Ashwatthama, leaping up in excitement.
Sensing Ashwatthama’s murderous intention, Kripa said, ‘An attack while they are asleep! That is not appropriate. It is against dharma.’
‘Was it not against dharma to let a woman into the battlefield? Was it not against dharma to kill a man who puts down his weapons? Was it not against dharma to kill a man by striking him below his waist? The Pandavas never cared for dharma. Why should we?’ So saying Ashwatthama silently proceeded towards the Pandava battle camp. After some hesitation, Kripa and Kritavarma followed him.
While Kripa and Kritavarma kept watch, Ashwatthama entered the section where the warriors from Panchala slept, his sword unsheathed. At the entrance he found Shiva, the God of destruction, appearing not like the benevolent Shankara but as the fearsome Bhairava, covered in blood with a garland of heads around his neck.
Bowing to Shiva, Ashwatthama entered the Pandava enclosure and found there t
he brothers of Draupadi, Shikhandi and Dhrishtadyumna, sleeping. He raised his sword and hacked them to death. ‘There I have avenged Bhishma and Drona,’ he said. He then beheaded five warriors who he assumed to be the Pandavas.
‘There I have avenged all the Kauravas.’ He then set fire to the Pandava camp. Those who tried to escape were shot dead by Kripa and Kritavarma.
Ashwatthama presented the severed heads to Duryodhana and exclaimed, ‘Blessed by Shiva, I have managed to behead the five Pandava brothers.’
Duryodhana found this hard to believe. ‘Show me the head of Bhima,’ he said. When it was presented, Duryodhana held it between his palms and crushed it like a coconut. ‘No, this is too weak to be Bhima’s head. Who have you killed, Ashwatthama?’ asked Duryodhana.
Kripa looked at the heads closely. ‘These are not the Pandavas. They are young faces, children in fact. Oh Ashwatthama, blinded by rage, you have killed the five sons of Draupadi,’ he cried. Ashwatthama did not know what to say.
Duryodhana let out a cry, ‘Are we now reduced to killing children? When will this stop? When we are all dead? This is madness. The Pandavas will rule over a city of corpses. Yes, Ashwatthama, I may have lost but no one has actually won.’ With those anguished words, Duryodhana breathed his last.
Rule of war
Rule breaker
Victim
No woman shall fight in the battlefield
Pandavas (Arjuna)
Bhishma
No single warrior shall be attacked by many
Kauravas (Drona)
Abhimanyu
No fighting after sunset
Pandavas (Arjuna)
Jayadhrata
Jaya: An Illustrated Retelling of the Mahabharata Page 27