Bhima looks at me. The strength of a thousand elephants stands cold like a dead metal. He grinds his teeth and snuffles, expressing his failure. He knows all Pandava brothers owe their lives to this young soul. Lifting the dead body of a son needs courage which no father has. My heart beats heavily, and like Bhima, I too stand numb. The tears are continuously rolling down and, the drops falling from the eyes become red mixing with the blood of this valiant. I kneel, look at Abhimanyu, and my shivering fingers surface through his wounds. The smile on his face depicts his achievement. Death is blissful for a warrior on the battlefield. It is eternal merit for a soldier. But definitely, Death would not be happy, while stealing the soul of this young lad.
“Yuyutsu, let’s take him back”, says Bhima breaking the silence, which seemed like an eternity. “Yes, we should”, I respond. The heart pounds when we lift Abhimanyu. His broken mail shines through the radiance of Mashaal. With utmost care, we place his body on the chariot. We climb on the chariot holding the brave boy. Visoka, pale and speechless like us, commands steeds to rush back towards the Pandava camp. The howling carnivores and whizzing insects declare the dark- ness of the night.
As we reach the camp, I see the pallid faces of Yudhishthira, Nakul and Sahadeva, standing with Satyaki, Ghatotkacha, and
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other sons of Draupadi. In the past twelve days, I have seen many shades of the war. Albeit the grandsire was the bulwark of Hastinapur, Pandava soldiers managed to maintain their supremacy for all these days. Many soldiers died; many war- riors became martyrs, but there was no evening as dark as today. The darkness of the evening and hollowness in the hearts of greedy men present on the battlefield, compete to prove their supremacy. But the human desires win always. These desires and lust had killed many kings, and today it has uprooted the future of a dynasty, the Kuru dynasty.
The chariot stops and Bhima gets down from it. He lifts the legs of the boy and asks me to support the body from the head. The blood still is oozing from his wounds. My palms get soaked in the dripping blood of that valiant. We place the body on the ground. Nakul, Sahadeva, and Yudhishthira rush towards us. The wounds on the heart are invisible, but the eyes explain the miseries. Yudhishthira sits down and places Abhimanyu’s head on his lap. The tears roll down his cheeks. The king is strong when he sits on a throne, and the warriors are brave in a battlefield, but their courage sublimates when they have to witness the dreadful end of a son. Yudhishthira looks dis- mayed, and so do the other Pandu sons. The young boy was dear to all.
I have no words to console the bereaved hearts. I look around searching for Uttara. Seems, nobody has informed her. Yudhishthira is still quiet. Nakul and Sahadeva rub the feet of Abhimanyu, possibly the only body part without a wound. Bhima couldn’t witness the tormented body anymore, and he moves away. Satyaki and Ghatotkacha too can’t utter a word. Amid these untold and unshared emotions, I hear the blare of conch. It is the sound of victory. “How callous world
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has become!”, I mumble. The blare increases and the sound grows louder, and so does the distant sound of the rattle of a chariot. The hooves of steeds reverberate with the grass on the ground. Seems, someone is heading towards our camp. Suddenly Yudhishthira looks up. Something is not right with him. As the sound nears, his heart sinks; I can decipher this witnessing his shifting expressions.
He says, “This is the sound of triumph. It is the sound of Arjuna’s conch, Devadatta. The victor Arjuna is coming. He certainly has slain all the Trigartas and fulfilled his vow.” Life flips every moment, sometimes juxtaposing incidents which portray opposite emotions and reactions. The celebration of victory and the melancholy of defeat are served together on this thirteenth day of the war. “The generations will never forget this day”, I mutter.
The king Yudhishthira looks straight into my eyes. I can almost feel his heart racing, racing with guilt, sadness, and self-doubt. Sending Abhimanyu to the deadliest array was his decision. He affrighted seeing the Death whirling on the field, but he didn’t know Drona could stoop to the lowest level of humility. The greed or the oath, what had eaten Guru’s intellect, I didn’t understand, neither did Yudhishthira. Yudhishthira forlornly mumbles, “What will I tell the victor of the day? How will I face the great archer? How will I look into the eyes of my dearest brother?”
The rattle stops in the backyard and the blare of the conch too. The footsteps turn louder, and the victor enters with his friend Krishna. Krishna walks calmly with a gentle smile on his face while his friend Arjuna advances towards the camp with bemused looks. Does he know what happened at the centre
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of the battlefield? But if aware, why Arjuna was blowing his conch. Did he hear from any soldier about the mishap of the day? But if he had already heard why he didn’t come to rescue his son? A lot of emotions and innumerable questions are bat- tling in my mind. As Arjuna walks towards Yudhishthira, I look at him trying to decipher the emotions on his face. The spark in his eyes shares the glory of the warrior. Gandiva hangs through his strong shoulder, and mighty sword tied at his waist, tell the story of his prowess. The golden mail covering his chest and leathern straps covering his arms shout the strength of the warrior. He looks at me and nods with bemused eyes. I try to stop him from walking further, but Krishna pulls me back.
Arjuna with pride in his voice, shouts, “Abhimanyu! My son, where are you? The Trigartas are dead today. Why haven’t you blared your conch to resonate the sound of mine? Didn’t you understand the sound of victory? O mighty warrior, where are you hiding today. I know you must have achieved another feat today and kept the promise of saving our king.”
He doesn’t get any response. Everyone looks at him with their dull faces, and his confidence shakes witnessing the silence. He looks at me, and his eyes ask the reason for the silence. I want to speak, but my tongue doesn’t support. The words shatter within the mouth, and my voice breaks. I want to hold him and tell him the truth, but I can’t gather the courage to speak.
He walks towards Yudhishthira, and his face pales, seeing his beloved son lying motionless. The victorious walk stops, broad shoulders drop, and Gandiva falls. His fingers tremble, and the
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glory on his face vanquishes as he beholds the horrendous sight. His lips waver as he tries to speak. The son of Indra, known for his courage and unparalleled dexterity, couldn’t stand at the heart-wrenching face of death. He falls on the floor with an ocean of tears rolling through his cheeks. He cries, cursing his decision of accepting the summon of Trigartas. “It is too late to repent.”, I whisper grievingly. Yudhishthira tries to console him, but no words can soothe Arjuna’s bereaving heart. His trembling fingers touch the wounds on Abhimanyu’s body, his moisty eyes turn red and veins swell as he continues glancing at his dead son. Arrows in the battlefield cruise with a mes- sage to kill or die. The arrows pierced deep into flesh, decide the difference between life and death. War demands blood, violence decides fate, and the wounds become a message of Goddess Death.
Arjuna is still silent, but this silence shrieks vengeance. I have known Arjuna since childhood. I know the emotional side of valiant Arjuna, and I am aware of the avenger inside him. He will not let his emotions dry. His wrath will roar on the battle- field, and he will convert the might of thousands of soldiers to mere dust of blood and flesh.
Breaking the deafening silence, Arjuna turns towards us and in a rageful voice asks Yudhishthira, “What had happened in the central field today? O eldest amongst all! Tell me the truth. This son of mine is just sixteen. Who stole his soul? Who tormented his innocence? Which were those people with cruel intentions with whom my son was contending? I know he must have fought with vigour and resolution. But when he was attacked, he must have looked up at you for help. Why did nobody reach out to him? Why was he left alone in the field when his body pierced with shafts and arrows? My son of
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tender years is no more. His body is lying motionless. I can consume this venom but what wi
ll I tell Subhadra? How will I explain Uttara that the mighty warriors of strength equal to Gods couldn’t save the grace of her life? I have no voice to tell Draupadi what has happened to her dearest son. How will I tell mother Kunti, that her grandson, couldn’t be saved by her sons? What is the use of such strength when we couldn’t save our sons? Why are we fighting this battle when the future is not safe? Our misfortunes have tormented the innocence of this tender aged boy.”
The misery in his voice is evident. The agony in his eyes is visible. He is seeking answers from all of us which we don’t have. I join my hands and lookup. Mahadeva! My lips utter. The loss of a young son is heaviest on the soul.
Yudhishthira is quiet, and his wavering lips search for words. I can feel his agony. He didn’t perpetuate this cruelty, and he is equally distressed. With tears in his eyes and grief in heart, he looks at his brother and speaks, “Arjuna! If you want to know the truth, I will tell you. If you are so keen to know what caused the death of this boy, I will share the truth with you.” The calm mind Yudhishthira looks twitchy. I know he will not hide the truth from the father of the dead son. Arjuna looks at him, and in crumbling voice says, “I am listening, O brother. Tell me the truth.” Yudhishthira continues speaking, “O Arjuna! After you went away responding to the summon of Trigartas, Guru Drona entered the battlefield with a whirling wheel of bravest sol- diers to captivate me. Agitated with Duryodhana’s foul words, Guru Drona’s only target was to seize me in the battle. Thus, he entered the field with the fiercest array Chakravyuh. The field got filled with the rage of the Kauravas’ army. They were slaughtering the soldiers of our camp ruthlessly. The time was
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less, and your absence in the field made it difficult for us to counter Guru’s plan. Finding no alternate, I urged Abhimanyu to rescue us by breaking that deadliest formation.”
“But Abhimanyu didn’t know how to come out of the array. How did you allow him to enter alone?”, interrupts Arjuna. “I ensured that a large retinue of bravest soldiers would follow him,” Yudhishthira responds.
“The young boy agreed and valiantly broke the entrance of the array. But before we could enter the array, the ruler of Sindhu, husband of our sister Dussala, Jayadratha blocked the entrance like a wall, and we couldn’t counter his prowess. That shameless leech avenged his insult by blocking our entrance into the array. Our collective strength dwarfed today. Abhimanyu was all by himself inside the pool of death. He fought valiantly, killed thousands of soldiers fearlessly but finally succumbed to the injuries caused to him by unjust cowards inside that array. Those Maharathis, the six of them, surrounded this little boy and ruthlessly stole the soul of our son.”, Yudhishthira shares further.
There is silence in the tent. Nobody can control their sorrow. We expected Abhimanyu to come out unscathed, but alas, we were wrong! Life is unpredictable, so is the war.
My heart shatters when I see Uttara standing near Arjuna. The young girl got married to Abhimanyu a couple of months ago. And today, carrying the future of this dynasty in her womb, she stands numb behind Arjuna. Her tearless eyes continuously stare at the soulless warrior. Arjuna turns and walks towards
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her, but she doesn’t move. She is firm. She is cold. The wounds in the heart are not visible but torment the most. None of us can imagine the emotions raging within her. Arjuna makes her sit at a corner. We can only empathize but can’t feel the sentiments cruising within her. The blood from the wounds of Abhimanyu reflects in her eyes. Her dry eyes demand reasons for this irrational vacuum created in her life. The death of her husband has drilled her soul. Her silence demands justice. Hollow creatures coated with greed have robbed jubilance of her life.
“This wicked act will consume the Kauravas. A heinous crime perpetuated in the light of day. Soon the souls of those murderers will meet the darkness”, I mutter.
Everyone is gripped, with grief and voices of whining souls wane gradually. Beholding the silence around, Krishna comes forward and says, “O Dear Arjuna! O elder Yudhishthira! It is not the time to indulge in grief and forget the reason for this war. Death is ordained by the creator. It is the absolute truth of life, and it is the certainty of continuity. Death is blissful; should not be mourned. Those who walk, have to depart, and today it was brave Abhimanyu. He was brave, courageous, gallant, learned and a fearless warrior. He obtained those inac- cessible regions which are attained by the ascetics after long penances at a tender age. He had served the purpose of his life. He fought epically with fear failing to blanket his vision. We should not mourn his sacrifice but celebrate the feat achieved by valiant Abhimanyu. The world will remember Abhimanyu as the warrior whose presence petrified the antagonists. The trepidation should be on those who performed this heinous act. The fear of death should be on those who didn’t give a second thought before slaying this young boy. Do remember
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great Arjuna, today all the laws of war were broken by the Kauravas. They have to pay for their misdeeds. Remember, grief is the biggest enemy of humans. It distracts the mind from pursuing the goal and restricts the efficacy. O Arjuna! Mourn not, rise, strive and ensure tomorrow’s sun shouldn’t set before Abhimanyu’s sacrifice is avenged.”
Silence preponderates; silence as thick as darkness in the deepest groove; silence as frightening as portents. It is the silence to comprehend Krishna’s homily. A profound silence to refine the future actions of the father of a dead son. Breaking the enveloped silence, Arjuna stands up and with anger in his voice says, “I, Arjuna, the third in the line of Pandavas, descendent of Bharata race, before all the great warriors of Kuru dynasty, take a vow that tomorrow’s sun will see the end of Jayadratha. The ruler of Sindhu will exhale his last breath before the sun sets tomorrow. That sinner who protected the entrance of Chakravyuh will meet his fate tomorrow. If I am unable to achieve this goal, I will enter the fire and end my life. I will no longer live to see another day. Either he or I will see the sunset tomorrow. It is my unshakable pledge. It is my oath to dispense justice to my dead son.” Uttering these words, Arjuna walks out of the tent with Gandiva hanging on his shoulder. He reaches his chariot, picks up his conch and blows it. The signal to Jayadratha’s end is vociferous. The conch blares, but the sound of victory replaced by misery. The waves entering the ears, shrill more deaths, more vehemence, and more bloodshed.
I am affrighted. Jayadratha is not just an ally of Duryodhana, but a family member. He is the husband of Dussala, our only sister. Dussala, like all the Kauravas, was born with the bless- ings of Rishi Vyasa like other Kaurava brothers. I have seen
her grow. The hundred and one brothers are her protectors and her strengths too. She is fearless because she trusts us. That very trust is the root of confidence of Jayadratha, which influenced him to restrict Pandavas to enter the array during the day today. Over the years of determination, he learnt the skills to fight against the thousands of warriors. He prayed and asked for a boon to defeat all the Pandavas for just once, and today he was successful in doing that. He paved the way for the Kauravas to kill Abhimanyu. His wish of avenging his insult fulfilled too. Jayadratha was unparalleled and unconquerable. His prowess was Dussala’s confidence. But Arjuna’s oath is stronger than Dussala’s trust.
Uttara’s grief today will be Dussala’s sorrow tomorrow. Whoever wins, humanity will lose certainly. There seems to be no end to my miseries. Both the groups are equally dear to me. Thoughts of Dussala once again bring tears to my eyes. Amid all these emotions, I suddenly realize the agony of my elder brother Duryodhana. What no one seems to care about is that I’m losing my family members on both sides of the camp! In the wave of the grief of Abhimanyu’s death, I have forgotten about my other nephew. He is as dear to me as Abhimanyu. I have lost another son as well but on the other side of the field. I have lost Lakshmana.
LAKSHMANA
n the rush of bringing back Abhimanyu’s dead body and amid feelings of the heinous act, I forgot about Lakshmana. I hurriedly come out of the camp
and run towards my horse. In the blink of an eye, I climb on it, pull the reins and career towards Kauravas’ camp. I know Duryodhana will not be happy seeing me tonight. He thinks I betrayed him by favouring Pandavas in war. He thinks, for my entire life, I pro- tected Bhima whenever he planned to defeat him. Least he knows that Bhima doesn’t need my protection. Memories gust through my mind as I ride towards Duryodhana’s camp. The envy and greed incepted in childhood have pushed us into this
skirmish.
I am in a hurry to reach the place and see my dear nephew for one last time. His childhood memories flash in front of my eyes. The first time when he walked, climbed on my back, babbled, and called me uncle. The first time when he lifted the sword and entered the Gurukul of Drona. All those memories of happy times just flicked in the flash of seconds. I pull my stallion’s reins strongly and reach the camp of Duryodhana.
The scene is no less dreadful than the Pandava camp. Dushasana, Vikarana and other brothers are standing around the dead body of the young boy. Duryodhana is silently staring at his dead son. Contrite. Coming out from one remorseful state, I enter another. Tears in Duryodhana’s eyes explain the
Yuyutsu - Rise of the last Kaurava Page 2