Srikrishna- the Lord of the Universe

by Shivaji Sawant

  The sun set. All of us returned to our tents. In the nightly meeting Krishnadeva was having a discussion with Dhrishtadyumna ‘With Duryodhana’s death the war has come to an end. The remaining soldiers should take down their tents and leave Kurukshetra.’ While he was having the discussion the same surveillance-chief Malaya presented Krishnadeva with the news that he had brought.

  Before Duryodhana passed away he had earnestly beseeched Kripacharya who had come to meet him, to formally appoint Ashwatthama as the last commander of the Kurus! Though both his thighs were crushed, his indomitable, enraged royal heart was not – he was not yet ready to accept defeat! He was still daydreaming about seeking revenge.

  Kripacharya performed the Abhishek to appoint Ashwatthama as commander, and Duryodhana himself put the crown of commander on his head while lying down. Even Drona’s son Ashwatthama became overwhelmed with emotions by Duryodhana’s faith in him. Duryodhana, who was at death’s doorstep fixed his eyes into Ashwatthama’s and said, “Oh, son of our guru, Kuru commander Ashwatthama, you are our last valiant commander. Even though Krishna is the master of the Sudarshan chakra the mantras of that divine Astra have escaped his memory as he has not launched it for a long time. If that was not the case, there have been many occasions during the last many years when he should have used the Sudarshan. He is in the same state that the cursed Karna was, who had given away his Kavacha-kundala in charity, and in which I am today, like a powerless lion whose claws have been clipped. You have with you the divine Brahmastra that our aacharya, your father Guru Drona has given you. You will be the ultimate source of our success! As the last Kuru, I instruct you and as a friend I request you to wipe out the Pandavas completely!”

  “Kauravaa, I will fulfil your wish! I will destroy the Pandava family line completely!” The son of the guru gently pressed wounded Duryodhana’s hand to reassure him.

  ‘Hail Gandhari…’ before he could even say ‘Mata’ arrogant Duryodhana breathed his last on the banks of Surya sarovar, still holding Ashwatthama’s hand in his.

  A ghastly night descended on Kurukshetra. From the vast spread of the battlefield of about forty yojanas a stretch of only about half a yojana was barely left dry. The remaining battlefield was defiled with the blood of more than forty lakh warriors from both sides, lakhs of elephants, horses and camels. Around the vast battlefield many funeral pyres were set ablaze every day. The river beds of Drishadwati, Sharavati and Saraswati, and lakes such as Brahma sarovar, Surya sarovar, and Jyoti sarovar had turned black as the ashes of the dead soldiers were dumped into them. The entire battlefield was littered with piles of broken chariot wheels, broken parts of weapons like swords, maces, spears, and iron clubs, scattered body parts of human corpses, cut-off elephant trunks, and horse tails. Some funeral pyres were still burning near the waterfront. The entire land of Kurukshetra was filled with the mixed cries of vultures, hyenas, foxes, wolves, wild dogs and tigers. The ghastly hooting of owls echoed in the hollows of the remaining trees. The torches burning in the night were dimming as there were no soldiers to put oil in them. The acrid smoke of torches that had completely extinguished had dispersed everywhere. Kurukshetra was no longer a holy land. It had become a vast crematory.

  I was lying on a rug in my tent along with a few Yadava soldiers who had survived. I was constantly tossing and turning. The images of the war during the last eighteen days were dancing frantically in front of my eyes. No matter how hard I tried I could not sleep tonight. How could one sleep in an atmosphere filled with the growling of wild animals and bizarre sounds?

  It was about midnight. I heard the heart-wrenching cry of a woman coming from a distance. I pricked my ears, my already open eyes dilated. Sharp words like the pointed tip of Suchi arrows were falling on my ears – “Achyuta… Madhava… Milinda… Madhusudana…. betrayal! The scoundrel did not spare a single one of my sleeping sons! Oh Hrishikeshaa, you are awake when all beings are asleep, how come you are asleep today? Arise, Krishnaa…. Get up!”

  I sat on the rug at once. That wailing woman was none other than the Pandavas’ wife Draupadidevi herself! I lifted a burning torch and rushed in the direction of the voice. My Yadava soldiers followed me. I had no clue what was going on. The wailing sound seemed to rush in the direction of Krishnadeva’s pavilion. I also rushed in the same direction. I entered Krishnadeva’s pavilion. His peacock-feathered crown was still sitting in the salver. Uddhavadeva, dressed in a saffron cloak, was standing on his right. Both of them were trying to console Draupadidevi who was giving out heart-wrenching cries while beating her chest, “What is it Krishney…? What happened, Panchali?”

  The royal lady could barely speak as she was beating her chest in uncontrollable agony. She was just crying loudly in distress – ‘My Prativindhya… Shrutakirti…, my Sutasoma…, Shatanika…, my Shrutasena!’ All we could comprehend was that she was talking about all the five sons of the Pandavas. Why? For what reason? We had no clue. Her wailing wouldn’t stop and our confusion was not getting cleared. Krishnadeva sat next to her, lovingly patted her hair made by Bhimsena and even more affectionately asked her, “Sakhi Shyamale, what happened? Be calm. Get a hold of yourself. What happened to your sons?”

  Then while still sobbing with tears streaming down her eyes continuously Draupadidevi said, “That scoundrel – has killed my five sons while they were asleep – with his sword! He has also beheaded my brother – Dhrishtadyumna!”

  By this time all five Pandavas had entered Krishnadeva’s pavilion and circled their wife. Bhimsena was stroking his wife’s back with his mighty arm and asking over and over again, “Draupadi, be calm. Tell us clearly, who committed such a

  sinful act?”

  Overwhelmed with sorrow Draupadidevi looked at Bhimsena with hopeful eyes and in desperation she said, “I am still a widow in spite of having five powerful husbands like you! Of what use is your valour after all? They touched my saree in the gambling hall full of people I kept quiet. I should have been sitting on the royal throne of Indraprastha but they sent me bare-feet to live in a forest – I endured that without protest. Today that vicious villain has beheaded my beloved sons – your own progeny leaving me, a mother, bereft of her children. Yet you tell me to stay calm?”

  Finally, shaking Draupadidevi frantically Bhimsena spoke harshly, “Who committed this sin? Tell me his name.” Srikrishnadeva also patted on her head and asked her the same thing, “Give his name Draupadi!”

  Then controlling her outburst firmly, the noble lady uttered each word while sobbing – “Your – your guru Drona’s son – that – scoundrel Ashwatthama!”

  “What?” All five Pandavas exclaimed unanimously in shock. As soon as he heard the name of the killer of his sons Bhimsena put his huge mace on his muscular shoulders and immediately left the pavilion. Krishnadeva promptly followed him. Uddhavadeva and I rushed after him.

  Bhimsena entered the pavilion of Dhrishtadyumna, who had been the Pandava commander from the beginning. A gruesome scene lay in front of him that would have benumbed anyone’s senses. Pandava commander Dhrishtadyumna’s head had been cut off in his sleep, and his torso lay askew in a pool of blood. Corpses of his beloved bhache, all five sons of the Pandavas, sleeping on both sides lay cluttered chaotically in a pool of blood. Most of them had long brutal strokes of the sword visible on their chests. A very long stroke was visible on Prativindhya’s back, who was sleeping peacefully on his stomach resting his hand on his mama’s chest. All the sons of Pandavas had probably died in their sleep. Reddish black puddles of coagulated blood were spread all around. After watching his sons and the commander in such a dreadful state even Bhimsena, so hefty and strong, covered his face with his hands and slumped for a moment. The next moment he got up and in that dim light of the early morning, went towards the west side of the battlefield in search of Ashwatthama shouting loudly, ‘Somebody just show me the merciless killer Ashwatthama – show me Ashwatthama…’ He was oblivious to the elephant trunks, skulls of dead soldiers, their body parts, and ho
rse tails being crushed under his feet. In that dim light of early morning for almost a prahar he wandered all over the battlefield with his fiery red eyes while roaring ‘Show me Ashwatthama…. Show me Ashwatthama’. We also dragged ourselves behind him. Ashwatthama was nowhere to be found. In the end, exhausted Bhimsena helplessly sat on a boulder near the trunk of a Tamala tree to the west of the battlefield. We caught up with him. Seeing that he was almost on the verge of crying Krishnadeva said to him, “Oh son of Vayu, get a hold of yourself. I can understand your rage! Ashwatthama’s time has not yet come. I can’t tell you when it will come!”

  The fifth day of the bright fortnight of Pausha dawned on Kurukshetra. Krishnadeva who was bringing Bhimsena back to his pavilion saw a human figure far away near the base of a hill, sitting on a boulder in the shadow of a sprawling Palash tree. At that point he said to Bhimsena, “Pandava, you who otherwise look like a sprawling Palash tree on the battlefield, why are you looking greenish black like a teak tree? Look ahead. How that Palash tree has bloomed!”

  Bhimsena looked in front with his big tearful eyes as if he was looking through a veil. His sight fell on the Palash tree blooming with red flowers and then on the boulder. He recognized Ashwatthama even from such a long distance. Immediately he howled loudly, “Ashwatthama…you, merciless killer of the sleeping sons of Pandavas. I appeal to you in the name of your father. Wait where you are. I dare you to strike this Bhimsena’s chest with your sword.”

  Taking long leaps Bhimsena reached him within no time. The blood-stained clothes which Ashwatthama was wearing were parched as the blood had dried, but his eyes still reflected the same indomitable rage of war. A mace duel ensued between the two of them in the dry patch that was left on the west side of the battlefield. We all encircled them and kept watching. Though the sun god had ascended high up in the sky, their duel that initially began with mace fighting and later continued with many other weapons, did not appear close to concluding. Now the sun was directly overhead. Bhimsena tossed the sword in his hand aside and thumping his iron like arms challenged Ashwatthama for a conclusive wrestling bout. Even though Ashwatthama was well aware of the reputation of invincible Bhimsena who had made many wrestlers eat the dust including Jarasandha, he accepted the challenge. He also thumped his arms, and dared Bhimsena. Now the Lord of Dwaraka Srikrishnadeva stood in the middle of the two and said, “Bhimsena, this challenge of yours will never come to an end. You fought the wrestling bout with Jarasandha for twenty-seven days. It will be pointless if you fight with Ashwatthama for not one but even for twenty-seven years. Ashwatthama is immortal, he won’t die!”

  Turning towards Ashwatthama he also tried to convince him, “There is no other wrestler like Bhimsena in the Aaryavarta after Jarasandha! Don’t try to dare him! If both of you still don’t want to listen, then I will hand you both the soil to commence the bout and I would also like to watch it!”

  Both of them stood facing each other like a snake and a mongoose. Both were unaffected by Krishnadeva’s words.

  Both of them accepted the soil from Krishnadeva to commence the wrestling bout and got into a simple pit prepared by the soldiers. They fought using various maneuvers against each other like Abhyakarsha, Rajakaprushtha, and Aakadi. The remaining soldiers encircled the pit. Both of them were perspiring, neither was able to overpower the opponent. Finally, when the third prahar of the day began Bhimsena fastened the Bahukantaka hold around Ashwatthama’s neck. But a very strange thing was happening today. Even when Bhimsena used all his strength in the Bahukantaka hold that he had used as the ultimate weapon all his life, Ashwatthama was holding his breath using the power of Yoga and was protruding his veins in such a way that ultimately Bhimsena himself was getting exhausted. This went on for a long time. Then Krishnadeva moved forward and putting a sword near Bhimsena he whispered in his ears. In his own Krishna style, he gave Bhimsena conclusive instructions, “Son of Kunti, listen to me carefully, Ashwatthama is immortal! He will never die. There are two ways a human being can die – one is physical death and the other is public humiliation! He has a bead of flesh on his head since his birth, cut it off with the sword I have given you. The wound on his head will never heal. It will keep bleeding forever! Just like the dead bodies of the Pandavas’ sons! Ashwatthama will live forever carrying the perpetually bleeding wound! That humiliation will be like death to him! Hurry up and cut off the bead of flesh on his head with the sword!”

  Sweating Bhimsena did exactly as Krishnadeva told him. Holding Ashwatthama’s neck with his left hand he removed the bead of flesh on his head using the sword.

  Flinging the blood-stained sword on the battlefield he returned to the Pandava pavilion with the precious bead of flesh in his hand.

  He handed it to beloved wife Draupadidevi and described to her what had happened. Consoling her, Krishnadeva also told her about Ashwatthama’s immortality to reduce the sorrow of her sons’ deaths.

  The evening of the nineteenth day approached. The Lord of Dwaraka commanded us to uproot the poles of his spacious pavilion and wrap it up. As per his instructions Uddhavadeva, Arjuna and I – all his beloved Sakhas wrenched out the pegs of the pavilion from the land of Kurukshetra. Krishnadeva himself yanked out the central wooden pillar of the tall pavilion. A troop leader counted the remaining Pandava army. It numbered only a few hundreds. In the Kaurava army there were only three warriors alive now – Kripacharya, Kritavarma, and Ashwatthama!

  The religious duty of offering final Tarpana to all the dead soldiers was still to be done. For that purpose, we all came near the shore of river Drishadwati. Krishnadeva had invited Dhaumya rishi to perform the final rites of Tarpana. While he was instructing Dhaumya rishi about the preparations for Tarpana all of us breathed a sigh of relief that the Great War was over. River Drishadwati, which had been flowing for ages was tranquil. She had nothing to do with the human disaster on her banks.

  While Uddhavadeva, Daruka, all Pandavas including Arjuna and Achyuta, the Lord of Dwaraka, and I were observing the preparations for the ritual of Tarpana made by soldiers and the priest sitting on a stone step on the ghat of Drishadwati the surveillance-chief Malaya reached the banks of Drishadwati while gasping for breath. He had brought the final shocking news of the Great War of Bharata which was not yet over. Bowing down to Krishnadeva he said while trembling, “Oh Lord, I have bad news. Before Ashwatthama disappeared into the forest with his bleeding wound, he launched the Brahmastra.”

  “What? Brahmastra?” Krishnadeva got up from the step at once. “Yes, my Lord, Brahmastra! That missile has killed all our remaining soldiers who were packing up their tents as the war had come to end and also descended upon the foetus in the womb of Uttaraadevi in our ladies’ camp. All Pandava women are beating their chests and wailing loudly because of losing the one and only scion of the third generation of the Pandavas. They are calling for you. The Pandavas are lucky enough to be alive only because they were with you. I was also spared because I went to summon Dhaumya rishi. All Pandava women are beating their chests, wailing out loudly, ‘Save our clan! Do anything but save the son of Uttaraa!’”

  All this while, all of us were stunned and staring at Krishnadeva. No one knew what to say and what to do. Only Uddhavadeva tightly held both arms of the Lord of Dwaraka and earnestly said, “Vaasudevaa, only you can save the Pandava clan from this destruction now. Oh Narayana, it is now inevitable for you to recall the sadhana of your life and sip the Aachamana of Drishadwati’s water to remove the effect of the Brahmastra on Uttaraa’s unborn child. Or else the Pandava clan will be wiped out from the world! Let’s go.”

  With Krishnadeva walking behind him Uddhavadeva went towards the bed of river Drishadwati. He spread a small rug. Krishnadeva sat on it in the Padmasana. He closed his fish-shaped eyes. Uddhavadeva picked up palm full of water thrice and released it in Krishnadeva’s cupped hands. Releasing it on the ground he spoke in clear words audible to everyone, “If I am the son of renowned Maharaja Vasudeva and Devakimata, if I am entitled to be ca
lled the son of Nandadeva and Yashodamata of Gokul, if I am the true disciple of renowned Aacharya Sandipani and sage Ghor Angirasa in every sense, if I did not act selfishly in any manner whatsoever while uprooting injustice from Aaryavarta to emancipate justice, if I did not perform any kind of sin whatsoever during any event in my life through the day or night, then as I sip the Aachamana the scion of Pandava’s third generation growing in the womb of noble Pandava lady Uttaraa will take his first breath of life!” Narayana took a sip of Aachamana and opened his eyes. Looking at Uddhavadeva he smilingly said, “Udho, dear friend, go straight to the Pandava ladies’ camp, and come back after getting the news about Uttaraa’s foetus.”

  ‘As you wish dada’ said Uddhavadeva and hastily climbing the stairs of Drishadwati’s ghat he rushed towards the camp of the Pandava ladies. Since Abhimanyu’s death Uttaraadevi had been staying in the Pandava ladies camp at Kurukshetra.

  As the sun was about to set, tall Uddhavadeva clad in saffron clothes returned hurriedly with a smile on his face. All of us except Krishnadeva surrounded him with utmost curiosity. He immediately said with a lot of excitement, “Uttaraa’s foetus has begun moving again. The scion of the Pandavas’ third generation is safe!

  “Only ten warriors have survived the Great War. Kritavarma, Kripa and Ashwatthama on the Kaurava side and all the Pandavas, maharathi Satyaki on Pandavas’ side.” Breathing a sigh of relief that their clan had been saved none of the Pandavas realized who the tenth warrior was. I could never forget him. Still, to make sure that everyone heard his name from Uddhavadeva’s mouth I asked him, “Uddhavadeva, you said ten warriors! But told us only nine names! Who is the tenth warrior?”