Arjuna

by Anuja Chandramouli

Drona emphasised these points repeatedly, until Ashwatthama lost his patience. ‘I understand what you are saying, father. But what I do not comprehend is why you taught Arjuna the secret chant first, while I, your only son, was left out. And as if this was not humiliating enough, you feel the need to continuously reiterate the need for ethical consideration while using the Brahmashira, whereas Arjuna just received a mild warning. Can it be possible that you think more highly of him than of me? Do you love him more?’

  ‘I love nobody and nothing in this world more than you, my son,’ Drona replied with tears in his eyes. ‘But I cannot help but worry about you. Duryodhana is an evil man and yet you are close to him, and think the world of him. The company you keep seems to bring out the dark side in you. The Pandavas are good men, and if you persist in joining Duryodhana in hating them and wishing them harm, I very much fear that you will lose your way and stray from the path of righteousness!’

  Hearing the disappointment in his father’s voice was more than Ashwatthama could bear. He fled from him, ignoring his entreaties. Overcome by sadness and dread for the future, Ashwatthama wandered aimlessly like one who had reached the outer limits of his sanity. He wallowed in self-pity and pushed away the nobler sentiments from his mind. Slowly, he felt rage and hatred gain the upper hand. He hated Arjuna for usurping his father’s regard. He hated the fact that his father had made his rival the better warrior. At that point, Ashwatthama wanted nothing more than the means to kill Arjuna.

  The years rolled by and Ashwatthama thoroughly enjoyed bringing the Pandavas down in the world, and their exile absolutely delighted him. While the brothers were away, he made a trip to Dwaraka, to catch Krishna alone. Finding him in a secluded spot, he approached him, and using his status as a Brahmin, demanded that Krishna give him his discus, the famous Sudharshana Chakra, in exchange for the Brahmashira.

  Krishna smiled at him, but it was entirely devoid of goodwill. ‘What need do I have for a missile? You may keep the Brahmashira but I will let you have any weapon of your choosing that I own. Choose wisely, for some of my weapons might prove to be too much for you.’

  Ashwatthama sensed the scorn in Krishna’s voice and bristled. Holding his head high, he said he wanted only the Sudharshana Chakra. Krishna smiled again and told him to take it. Ashwatthama felt beads of sweat snaking their way down his spine like a clammy river. Trying to still his shaking fingers, he reached towards the great discus, hoping to pick it up and leave as soon as possible, away from that smile. But try as he might, he could not lift it. Again and again he tried, and again and again he failed. Finally, he sank to his knees in exhaustion. ‘There is none fit to wield this weapon but you, O Lord!’ he cried.

  ‘What made you persist in this foolish quest, Ashwatthama? Nobody in the three worlds has dared to try and take the Sudarshana Chakra from me. Nobody has even thought of owning it. It seems to me that you possess a certain quality that sets you apart completely from all the mortals in this world. I wonder if that is a good thing...? So what were you planning to do with my weapon, Ashwatthama? Perhaps you would have used it against me? Surely you would have worshipped me first? And having done so, you would have faced Arjuna with great courage, is that right? But, for you, I am afraid it will always go against the grain to fight your enemy face to face.

  Do you know that I would be doing the world a great favour by severing your head right now? I am tempted to do so, but two things have stayed my hand. You are a Brahmin; and also, fate has decreed otherwise. Go now, and when the time is right, let fate show you the way!’

  This was the story Krishna narrated to the brothers. ‘Ashwatthama is a sly one and there is something rotten in him, which no force on earth can expunge. If he sees Bheema, he will definitely use the Brahmashira. We must hurry!’

  The chariot in the sky caught up with Ashwatthama, who was sitting with the rishis in Veda Vyasa’s ashram. The Pandavas and Krishna rushed towards him. Sensing their approach, Ashwatthama felt his hatred and anger uncoil within him. He picked up a blade of grass and suffusing it with the power of the Brahmashira, released it.

  Arjuna responded by invoking the Brahmashira himself, hoping it would counter Ashwatthama’s. Seeing the celestial missiles rush towards each other, Vyasa and Narada derided the two men soundly for being stupid enough to release the two missiles which had the power to destroy the entire world. Arjuna revoked his missile immediately, since he was pure of mind and had no wish to harm the innocent. But Ashwatthama would not and instead, directed it towards Uttara’s womb.

  Krishna stepped towards him, radiating divine fury. ‘Ashwatthama, that was most wickedly clever of you. From killing sleeping men you have stooped to the level of attacking babies, not yet out of the womb. But I will not allow the child to die; I will personally ensure that his soul is not separated from his body. He will grow up to rule the world for many a year and great glory will be his.

  I have rid the world of many evil men, but since you are worse than all of them put together, your fate should be befittingly distinct. You shall roam the earth for ages, alone and despised by all who set eyes upon you. All your rage and bitter hatred will erupt as sores and ulcers on your body. And the foul odour of corrupted flesh and suppuration will envelop you, making dogs bite you and men stone you. Pain will be your constant companion. You will be relieved of the gem you keep hidden within your hair – the one you were born with, and which protects you from hunger, pain, and attacks from demons. The wound it leaves will bleed, putrefy, and never heal while you are alive, which will be forever. You will yearn for death with every ounce of your being but it will never claim you!’

  Ashwatthama was reeling under the mighty impact of the terrible curse when Bheema grabbed him and proceeded to lop off his hair. Finding the glittering gem within, he ripped it out with all the force he could muster. Blood gushed out in copious bursts even as Bheema thrust him aside. Scrambling to his feet, Ashwatthama took to his heels, praying already for his heart to burst asunder.

  Following his departure, Vyasa commended Krishna for saving Uttara and Abhimanyu’s unborn child and for fulfilling his promise to Bhishma to keep the Kuru line intact. Having said their farewells, the Pandavas and Krishna hurried back to show Draupadi the gem. They told her the entire story, and she was content. She even forgave Yudhishthira for his initial lack of enthusiasm to avenge his dead sons, and presented him with the sparkling gem.

  In course of time, when Uttara went into labour, the Pandavas and Krishna waited outside the women’s chambers. As they had feared, the baby was stillborn. The women wailed in despair. The Pandavas wept. Draupadi alone refused to grieve. She came out to the grieving men and ignoring them all, asked Krishna to step into the birthing chamber. Leading him to the disconsolate Uttara, she commanded, ‘Stop that crying at once! Krishna is here and while he is with us, there is no need to fear. He promised us the life of this child and his words can never be false.’

  Expectant silence filled the room. Krishna closed his eyes and said, ‘This child shall come alive if I have always stayed true to dharma and my duty.’ The last syllable of his utterance had still not faded away before the child’s cry rang out and filled the room with its life-affirming cadence. Flowers rained down from the heavens on the newborn child, who would inherit the world. Krishna’s divine form shone with ethereal radiance. Everyone cheered the Lord, clapping their hands like children. Arjuna hugged his friend and wept unashamedly onto his chest. They all felt the same; it was as if Abhimanyu, the boy they had all loved, had come back to the world of the living.

  The newborn boy was named Parikshit, for he had survived through divine intervention, as the lone descendent of a great lineage. The blessed child, as predicted by his divine-resuscitator, Shri Krishna, would go on to be a noble and mighty King, who would rule the Kuru kingdom for sixty years.

  20

  Restitution

  With Duryodhana dead and Ashwatthama taken care of, the battle of Kurukshetra finally ended. Dhritarashtra, Gandha
ri, Kunti, and the other women of the royal household, heard the news and lost no time in hurrying towards the battlefield. The Pandavas went out to meet them. Arjuna had never felt so heartsore in his life. The death of the Upapandavas and so many dear friends, haunted him. He felt the loss of Abhimanyu like a stab wound, and the pain was a permanent fixture in his chest.

  As he rode with his brothers and Krishna’s reassuring presence ever by his side, all he wanted was the sight of Kunti’s dear face. Arjuna felt like a small boy again. The years melted away and he was once again a frightened boy who had discovered that his father was dead. The youngster had turned to his mother and she had been strong for his sake; and he had drawn his courage from the deep wells of her inner fortitude. Now he needed Kunti again.

  As the distance closed between them, Arjuna could see Kunti clearly. She stood a little behind Dhritarashtra and Gandhari, and her face was wet with tears. Her eyes were scanning the battlefield restlessly and Arjuna knew she was thinking of Abhimanyu, and the sons of Draupadi. He longed to comfort her and be comforted in return, but he knew that Dhritarashtra and Gandhari had to be addressed and appeased first, as protocol demanded. Yudhishthira threw himself at Dhritarashtra’s feet and Arjuna felt the blind old man’s resentment for his brother like a body blow. The King blessed him, but the hollowness of the gesture was all too evident.

  It was Bheema’s turn next, and Arjuna wondered about the reception he could expect from the father of his mortal enemy, whom he had killed recently. Suddenly, he saw Krishna do something peculiar. He elbowed Bheema out of the way and thrust an iron statue into Dhritarashtra’s expectant arms. The blind man embraced the statue with a vice-like bear-hug, and with a shattering noise the iron statue crumpled like an eggshell in front of the stunned onlookers.

  Dhritarashtra stood still for a moment and then dropped to the ground in a keening fit, as the horror of what he believed he had done consumed him. Krishna supported him gently and said, ‘Fear not. You have done many things, but fate has decreed that you will not be guilty of killing your own nephew. Bheema lives. I divined your intentions and arranged for the statue of Bheema that Duryodhana used to practise with, to be brought here. It is the statue you destroyed with your mighty arms and not the man you should have treated as your own son but never did.’

  The ageing monarch wept with mingled relief and guilt on hearing Krishna’s words. ‘I deserve every word of your reprimand, for it was my weakness and foolishness that has caused so much harm. Even I am aware that Duryodhana was most unfair to his cousins, but I loved my son and his death is more than I can endure. But I will make my peace with the loss of all my sons, for clearly it has been ordained to happen for the greater good. And it is my wish that my brother’s sons inherit the Kingdom and restore wellbeing to the people.’ So saying, Dhritarashtra embraced the Pandava brothers and blessed them. Only this time, he actually meant it.

  Despite everything, Arjuna felt sorry for the old man. He caught Bheema’s eye, knowing that his brother felt differently. Shooting him a look of warning, Arjuna followed Yudhishthira, as he walked towards Gandhari. The normally dignified Queen looked forlorn in her benumbing grief, and the mighty Pandavas were scared to approach her. Even Bheema trembled as he stood before the noble lady. Her eyes beneath the cloth she always wore, having forsaken the gift of sight for her husband’s sake, roved over the five men who had killed every one of her sons. Rage built within her, springing forth from the depth of her loss, and she would have cursed them all. But Vyasa intervened and bade her hold her tongue. The great lady listened to the sage, but she could not stop herself from giving utterance to the bitterness in her soul. In a stirring indictment, she berated the Pandavas for depriving her of all her sons. ‘It is thanks to you that I stand today without a single son to call my own, when I was the proud mother of a hundred fine sons. My husband and I are old and we have nobody to support us. Why did you have to kill them all? Surely you could have spared at least one of my boys?’

  In a quavering voice, Yudhishthira spoke up. ‘I will devote my last breath to ensure that you know no discomfort mother, for I am yours to command. It will be an honour to serve you in the place of your sons and I beg you to grant me this.’

  Gandhari softened on hearing the sweet tone of genuine compassion; but then her eyes alighted on Bheema, and her pent up feelings flared again as she rounded on him. ‘How could you kill Duryodhana by resorting to cheating? My firstborn child lies dead because of your perfidy. And I could not believe that you over­stepped the bounds of common decency and drank Duhshasana’s blood! You have behaved like a ravening beast and I am ashamed of you! How dare you show your face to me after all the terrible things you did to my sons?’

  Too stung to pay heed to the repressing stare Arjuna threw his way, Bheema replied, ‘I was fighting for my life, and I could not mull over ethics with your son prancing around raining blows on me from all sides, hellbent on killing me. It was only natural for me to do whatever it took to survive. As for Duhshasana, I can assure you that I did not actually drink his blood since it did not pass my lips. I was only fulfilling the vow I took on the day he dragged Draupadi into the assembly room by her hair! It is not befitting a Kshatriya to go back on his word. I believe that you know deep down that I only did what I had to and that your sons only got their just deserts for the wickedness and evil intent with which they always treated us.’

  Being a woman of conscience, Gandhari could not disagree, but his words fanned the flames of her anger and mingled with the deepest sorrow. She took refuge in a fit of intense sobbing and the sound of her weeping fell on the Pandavas in a relentless crescendo, berating them more effectively than her words had done. While she wept, she caught sight of Yudishthira’s beautifully formed feet, and their unmarked perfection infuriated her, buffeted as her mind was by images of her dead sons lying on the battlefield, reduced to nothing more than carrion for scavengers to feed on. So great was Gandhari’s fury that it was transmitted through her lidded and blindfolded gaze and scorched Yudhishthira’s toenails, burning and disfiguring them painfully.

  Arjuna, who had been watching all this with uncharacteristic apprehension, felt more like a frightened child than ever. He hid himself behind Krishna, deciding that after all the bizarre events of the battlefield, it would not be surprising if the apparition in front of him burnt them all to cinders like Shiva did to Kama, when he opened his third eye. Gandhari caught the movement, and she was filled with a sudden tenderness. She had always liked Arjuna the best among Kunti’s sons. Yudhishthira, despite being virtuous, had been an obstacle to her son’s ascension to the throne and therefore, she could not help having mixed feelings about him. Bheema had been her son’s hated adversary, and Gandhari could not love one who was her son’s worst foe. But she had always liked Arjuna. It had been impossible for her not to like the handsome, talented boy who had grown to be such a fine specimen of manhood. She called him to her and hugged him gently to reassure him and even mussed his curls. As though sensing his desolation and need, she handed him over to Kunti, the way she would a mewling infant. At that instant, in his mother’s arms, Arjuna knew that though he could never hope to be whole again without Abhimanyu, the healing process had begun and he would recover. It was a strangely depressing thought, but comforting as well.

  Seeing her boys after what felt like eons, and holding Arjuna in her arms, Kunti cried fresh tears of grief, for she knew that her boys had lost an essential part of themselves on the battlefield of Kurukshetra, which they could never hope to recover. She wept for their loss and hers.

  Gandhari consoled Kunti and Draupadi, who had also lost her children. The ever-dignified Queen scanned the battlefield with her divine vision and the extent of the devastation shocked her. She turned to Krishna, who was watching her intently and the words rose unbidden to her lips: ‘You! You could have put an end to all this carnage, but you did not – and an entire race has paid the price for it. All the blood that has been shed is on your head. Fo
r that I curse you and your Yadava clan. Thirty-six years from now, the Yadus will turn on each other and destroy each other, caught in the throes of the same killing frenzy that infected the Kurus and your race will be destroyed. Your women will know the bereavement we are suffering now. You will bear witness to all that and your passing will follow shortly after, to join the ranks of the departed, alone and without glory!’

  Arjuna heard these words with horror, hoping that Krishna would somehow be able to deflect the curse, but his beloved friend smiled, his serenity unaffected. ‘Everything you said will come to pass as I have always known it will. Despite what you think, I am powerless against destiny. The Yadavas cannot be destroyed by men or the Gods; so their destruction at the hands of their own has been preordained, and your curse will serve that purpose. In the meantime, you should control your anger and refrain from lashing out at everybody around you, especially since you know well that if anybody deserves blame, it is Duryodhana and his parents, who did not restrain him when they could have. What is done is done, and it is only in acceptance of providence that you will find the strength to move on. Curb your anger, for it does not befit someone of your wisdom and nobility.’

  Krishna’s gentle reproof left Gandhari deflated and she fell silent. Dhritarashtra came forward at this juncture, and requested Yudhishthira to make funeral arrangements for the fallen warriors. He said that the final rites should be administered without waste of time and it was the duty of the survivors to do this last service for all the unfortunates who had met their end.

  Glad to have something to do, the eldest Pandava turned to Vidura and enlisted his aid to begin preparations for conducting the last rites for their fallen relatives and comrades-in-arms, since nobody knew these things better. The remains of the dead that littered the battlefield, were carefully gathered and long rows of funeral pyres were set up. The closest relatives of the fallen men then went around performing the heart-breaking task of lighting the pyres. Once the Fire God had consumed the remains, the ashes were gathered. Dhritarashtra and Yudhishthira led the procession to the banks of the river Ganga. Arjuna was carrying the ashes of Abhimanyu, and he held the clay urn close to his chest. The sombre procession was accompanied by the wretched sounds of bereaved women ululating in abject grief. Arjuna wished silence would fall.