gravity of his loss. He has lost his son. The son for whom he dreamt the future of Hastinapur, the son for whose future he allied with many kingdoms and expanded the dominions of the capital, and the son whom he always imagined sitting on the throne of Hastinapur as the future king of Bharata race, is lying motionless on the ground.
Greed and desire took the lives of two young sons of Kuru dynasty. Inhumanity has stolen the souls of two young boys. The grief, in both the camps, is equal. The pain, in the hearts of both groups, is the same. But nobody wants to step back; nobody wants to call for peace.
I look at Duryodhana. His moist eyes seek vengeance, but there is no sign of regret. Abhimanyu slew Lakshmana before dying, and then the six men killed Abhimanyu. Death of Duryodhana’s son avenged with the life of Abhimanyu. The soldiers in Kauravas’ camp might have celebrated that puny victory over the young boy, but deep down Duryodhana must be grieving for his loss. After all, a father’s loss can be felt by a father only! The glory of the two sons is equal and the degree of sorrow too. The fatherly emotions in both the camps entwined with the strings of glorification; these sons achieved. My heart melts for both these young achievers. Man isn’t made up of wood, and his intellect is not feeble, but the desire decimates all. These two young boys are sacrificed today on the pyre of the greed of their elders.
I see Guru Drona standing among the Kauravas. I smirk seeing his cowardly face. A boy less than a quarter of his age and experience had shown him the power of determination and
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shattered his ego. All his intelligence and pride sublimated on the battlefield before the fury of a young boy. Abhimanyu killed his wish of seizing king Yudhishthira. Wounds on the Guru’s body will hound him in the coming days. He tasted defeat from the son of his favourite disciple, Arjuna. His head is bowed down in grief. But as the war has revealed new shades of everyone, I am sure for him the grief of losing Lakshmana is lesser than the humiliation he faced on the field because of the prowess of Abhimanyu. The vile struggle of existence and hunger of proving his supremacy is peeking through his wrinkled skin, but today his authority was challenged by a six- teen-year young boy.
I walk towards Duryodhana with the hope of consoling his weeping heart. I reach closer, but as I try to speak, Duryodhana points a finger towards me and shouts, “You traitor, you betrayer, stop there. Not even your shadow should fall on my son’s body. We gave you all the love despite knowing the secret of your birth. All of us have loved you as equal as other hundred brothers, but you disregarded our affection. For you, the friendship of Bhima and love for Pandavas were stron- ger than the hope of our father. We always gave you an equal opportunity, treated you as our own, but you showed your true colours in this war. Your desires became bigger than the love of brothers. Yuyutsu, I warn you to stop there and walk not an inch towards me.” Each word of Duryodhana pierced my soul. Wounds on my body don’t hurt as much Duryodhana’s words. I am aware of what I chose. But I don’t deserve to be chastised in front of everyone, every moment. It was indeed my choice on day one of the war to change the side. It was my choice to select what was best for me. Following the Dharma of self is better than following the unknown path of others. Even if I die in this war, I will have no complaints. It is perilous
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to fall for unknown wisdom and unbaked intellect. It was my well-thought decision, and I give no right to anyone, including Duryodhana, to question me. It was my wish that day to switch sides. And it is my wish today to see the body of my nephew for the last time. I want to be part of the obsequies of Lakshmana.
Despite the warnings of Duryodhana, I continue walking towards him. No one else threatens to stop me. The tent is full of my other brothers and groups of mourning soldiers. I don’t notice any difference in the suffering. The pain of each day of loss is harrowing, and my soul perturbed each time Bhima killed my brothers. But today, life has taken an unprecedented turn with the death of two of my nephews. Fate doesn’t hand over the destiny to humans; we create it. I walk while looking at each pair of eyes gazing at me. None of them wants my head on my shoulder, I know. The decisions, once taken, are like the arrows released; they never come back. Whatever Duryodhana may claim about equality and brotherhood, but I have always witnessed silent discrimination.
Amidst mourning hearts and teary eyes, I see the body of Lakshmana. My heartbeat skips. Seems, the earth below my feet slipped, with a lump in my throat and trembling fingers I lose control and tumble on the ground. I see the headless body of Lakshmana. It sends chills down my spine like a thundering strike from the firmament. The headless body of Lakshmana is equally terrifying as the body of Abhimanyu resembling a porcupine, filled with arrows. Abhimanyu’s death pained me, but Lakshmana’s death tormented me. Abhimanyu didn’t play on my lap, but Lakshmana did. Abhimanyu didn’t walk holding my fingers, but Lakshmana did. Abhimanyu didn’t learn the science of war and art of handling weapons under my super- vision, but Lakshmana did. Abhimanyu was just three when
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he went to Panchal after the exile imposed on Pandavas, but Lakshmana lived all his years of life, in the same palace. I have seen him grow; I have seen him learning, and today I see his headless body. My agony aggravates. It is beyond melan- choly of two fathers grieving at two ends of the field. Nobody can equate the pain in my heart except one. The man who is lying alone in the middle of the field controlling his soul from getting departed. The man who gave his sweat and blood to Hastinapur. My anguish is no less than that of the man lying on the bed of arrows. I am not the grandsire, but my agony is no less than Bhishma’s today. He drenched the soil of Hastinapur with his sweat and blood, and he always wanted the broth- ers to live in harmony. The man, who instituted heights for the kingdom, was pierced by his grandsons. He chose his end from the hands of the best warrior, Arjuna. His body might be motionless, but his soul is still in his command. He is observing every heart-wrenching event happening on the field. Amidst the twang of bows and clang of maces, he lies silently. He is still yoked with his oath, and he doesn’t want to close his eyes till he sees the right heir crowns the throne.
The night gets darker, and the bereaved family is sitting silently, praying for the departed soul. The silence in the Kauravas camp breaks when a spy hurriedly enters the place. He is horrified and shocked as if he has seen the face of Goddess of Death. He bows down and asks for permission to speak. Guru Drona permits him to share his message. The fear in his eyes is visible. He knows something dreadful. A soldier standing behind gives him some water to quench his dried throat. “O, Lord! In an agony of losing his son, the third of Pandu sons, Arjuna has vowed to kill king Jayadratha by the sunset tomorrow. He avowedly declared that if he failed to slay the ruler of Sindhu, he would enter into the fire and end his
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life. It will be either him or Sindhu ruler tomorrow”, he hastily shares his message. Without giving any reaction, Guru signals the messenger to leave.
I already know about this vow. Arjuna has taken one more oath in his life. His life is full of struggles right from his birth, but he makes it more difficult with his vows. Who on earth has asked him to vow his life against the death of Jayadratha? He is skilled; he is powerful. No warrior on this planet can equate his calibre. He alone had demolished many armies in the past. Then why each time he puts his life on stake. A man is the creator of his fate, but he should not get right to demolish the most beautiful creation of almighty, life. Krishna is on his side. The mentor, the friend, and the protector but he took that oath without his consultation. Krishna mustn’t be happy about it, I am sure.
After listening to the message, Jayadratha trembles in fear; affrighted, he runs towards Guru Drona. He knows Guru Drona only can protect him. The fearless warrior who stalled the four Pandavas during the day today loses his cool as he hears Arjuna’s oath. The fear of death can quiver anyone. He knows his today’s actions will be chastised tomorrow. “But why is he worried? He did what other soldiers are doing for all these days, fol
lowing the rules of the battle. He didn’t do anything against Dharma. Why is he petrified? Has the vow of Arjuna shuddered him?”, I connect scattered dots while Jayadratha loses his patience and in a trembling voice asks, “O Guru! O commander! How different is my calibre from Arjuna? You have taught both of us. You are a true judge of the differences. Will I be able to stand before Arjuna?”
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The Guru replies in negative, with a bit of haste while avoid- ing the eye-contact. He knows the strengths of Arjuna and gravity of Arjuna’s vow. During our days in gurukul, many times, we had witnessed the adamance of Arjuna to leave everyone far behind. Guru continues mentioning how Arjuna had achieved the feat with years of penances and sacrifices. The learnt warrior has sacrificed many days and nights in learning the war forms and weapon handling skills. The world acknowledges the valour of Arjuna. Beholding the affrighted Jayadratha even in presence of skilled and fearless warriors in camp, Duryodhana stands from his place and walks towards Jayadratha. Duryodhana looks concerned too, but he tries to pacify Jayadratha. The prowess and stubbornness of Arjuna are not new to anyone. Duryodhana asks for Guru’s advice for tomorrow’s battle. I am still present in the same tent, but it seems due to fear of Jayadratha’s death Duryodhana has ignored my presence. Everyone else seems to have forgotten me too.
To boost the confidence of Jayadratha, Duryodhana takes control of the situation and says, “If the news shared by my spy is true, I will ensure to adopt all the remedial measures. I’ll select the greatest warriors in my army to cover and safe- guard the Sindhu ruler. Karna, Bhurisravas, Ashwatthama, Vrishasena, Kripa and Salya will have this responsibility. In my opinion, these warriors are best in the different war forms, and they are skilled to counter attacks of Arjuna and his retinue. I am not fearful of Arjuna. But I am committed to secure the life of my sister’s husband. Jayadratha! Don’t fear I will never let anyone harm you.” As he spoke, his voice trembled, and he licked his lips multiple times. I know Duryodhana is a learned strategist. But when the life of a family member is at stake, fear becomes an uninvited guest. He has already lost tens of
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his dear brothers, and the death of his son must have shaken his confidence.
Guru understands the panicked mind of Duryodhana and thus intervenes, “Duryodhana! Being the commander of your army, I have the prime duty to safeguard every soldier. O Son! Fear not. I will ensure the safety of the Sindhu ruler. These six chosen warriors will be the shield of Jayadratha tomorrow. Each of them will surround the chariot of Jayadratha arrayed as a lotus. In the middle of the leaves of that lotus, there will be a needle-mouthed array where Jayadratha’s chariot will be placed. The lotus array will be surrounded by one Akshauhini army. Arjuna vowed to slay Jayadratha before the sun sets but I will never let Arjuna reach near Jayadratha. I ensure that one large retinue of brave men followed by these selected six warriors will guard the advancements of Arjuna. Tomorrow, Arjuna will fulfil his oath, but to walk into the fire. Dear Duryodhana, fear resides in the hearts of cowards. Throw your fears away as the presence of these six warriors is the guarantee of safety of Jayadratha’s life.” I observe that Guru’s words seem to have satisfied everyone, and hence gradually everyone’s face relaxes. But Jayadratha still doesn’t look convinced.
Kauravas’ commander is full of confidence. Though his strategy failed today, it undoubtedly hasn’t besieged him to prepare for the next day. Great warriors never panic in adver- sities but create opportunities. He is the Guru of all of us. He knows the strengths and weaknesses of all his disciples, including Arjuna. He will plan the best for tomorrow like an intelligent strategist keeps the best for the last. There must be something he’s not revealing. He certainly has a surprise for tomorrow. His glory is acknowledged by many invincible
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emperors in past. The grandsire had chosen him as the prime mentor because of his intelligence. He knows what he speaks and delivers what he commits. The whirling death machine, Chakravyuh, on the battlefield today was a tiny example of his prowess. The confidence of Guru terrifies me, and my love for the Pandavas rises again.
“I will have to share this with Krishna and Arjuna”, I mutter. My mind wants me to go and share Drona’s plans with Arjuna, but my heart wants to stay back and be part of the last rites of Lakshmana. The mind never synergizes with the heart. But I will have to take the decision. I have already sided myself towards Pandavas, and my emotions towards Lakshmana shouldn’t stop me now. The lives are already lost, the oath is already taken. But if Guru succeeds this time, it will be great damage to Pandavas. The moment Arjuna walks out of the bat- tlefield, the doors will shut for Pandavas’ victory. The injustice will rule, and agony will prevail. I will never let this happen to the Kuru dynasty. Albeit I am not an accepted brother, my emotions for the country will not allow me to stop sharing Guru’s secret. It will be against the Dharma of war; I am not a spy deployed to unearth the secrets. I was here to bid my last homage to Lakshmana. But now when we are at the edge of defending the righteousness from the clutches of injustice and greed, when the rules have already started to be broken, and when the perfidy has become the armament of warriors; stopping myself from revealing this strategy of Guru will cause no destruction. A state prevails when the instinct to maintain harmony among groups grows, but when treachery, faith- lessness, and violation of rules become the front runners, the future walks towards darkness.
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ABHIMANYU
hurriedly came out of the camp without informing Duryodhana, anyway, he was least bothered about my presence around him. I never gained any respect in his eyes and my friendship with Bhima since childhood has acted as clari- fied butter in the fire of his hatred for Pandavas. I am already a traitor according to him. I climb my horse and rush towards Arjuna’s tent. Looking back several times, I don’t see anyone following me. Least that I expected. I reached the Pandavas camp. Krishna is sitting next to Uttara while Subhadra and Draupadi are sitting behind Arjuna. Anger is still oozing from Arjuna’s eyes while the three ladies are just mum and pale with grief. Others are preparing for the last rites of the warrior.
“This is not the right time to tell them about Guru’s plan”, I mumble. Subhadra with teary eyes is continuously glancing at the dead body of her son. Uttara’s eyes are in a fixed motion- less gaze into oblivion. Not a single drop of tear is coming out of her eyes. Whether she is controlling her emotions, or she hasn’t yet accepted that her husband has met with the most dreadful death, only she knows.
The tears of Subhadra have brimmed the cauldron of anger and remorse. Her grief is unfathomable, and her pain is irrevo- cable. The camp is quiet. Subhadra breaks the silence and while looking at Arjuna speaks in a hoarse voice, “O great warrior! O wielder of Gandiva! You with the other four brothers are a
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paradigm of strength. Fear itself trembles in front of you and the death herself runs for her life. Such great Maharathis but couldn’t save the life of a young boy. His life ended at such a tender age, and nobody could do anything. O Lord! Tell me why you failed to protect the life of your son. The boy who had seen just sixteen springs of his life didn’t deserve this abominable fate. I can’t accept that the mighty Pandavas and the entire army couldn’t save one child!
Why couldn’t my son be saved from the vile attacks of Kauravas? Why didn’t you teach him the complete science of the array formation? Why didn’t you teach him how to come out of the Chakravyuh?” She screamed without moving her gaze away from Arjuna. Tears of melancholy roll down her cheeks. She wails in agony, and nobody has the courage to look at the rage in her eyes. Each word from Subhadra is no less than darts pricking the flesh out of Arjuna’s body. The melan- choly of a mother is like the fierce winds blowing in the dry brazen land uprooting even the tiniest plants. The inconsol- able mother’s cries could shake even the firmament, and the Lord Yama must be repenting on his decision of taking away the young soul.
Arjuna looks at Subhadra. His teary eyes want to speak
a lot, but his lips don’t move. He could only manage to say that he regrets that he didn’t teach the full science behind Chakravyuh to Abhimanyu. The women are inconsolable, and so was Arjuna. Arjuna looks at Krishna. Krishna knows his friend better than himself. He rises from his place and walks towards Subhadra. There is an unexplainable composure on his face. I have always seen Krishna calm in every situation. Calmness is another name of the wielder of Sudarshan. He has solved a multitude of conflicts with the same composure. And
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today is no different when his dear friend needs him the most. Krishna walks closer to Subhadra and speaks, “O mother of a great warrior! Grieve not. Grief shackles the valour. It impedes action. Grief is an enemy to courage. It makes the enemies glad and saddens friends. Grief is the utmost foe of a warrior and shouldn’t reside in anyone’s heart. The feat achieved by your son is beyond the reach of many of the greatest warriors of this planet. He was born as a warrior and died a prestigious death. He was part of the great lineage and made his ancestors proud with every step he took on the battlefield. The learned scholar and the mighty warrior with profound wisdom had vanquished numberless foes in the battle. He achieved what the great Rishis and celibates attain after long penance. His wisdom was beyond worldly, and his achievements were not ordinary. My dear sister, the survival of a race sometimes demands the sacrifice of individuals. Actions determine fate and lineage. Abhimanyu was born in the lineage of Bharata; his sacrifice shouldn’t be mourned.”
Yuyutsu - Rise of the last Kaurava Page 3