Yuyutsu - Rise of the last Kaurava

by Aniket Sharma

  The restless mind looks for a companion; for a friend to hold my hand. Swastika! My heart pounds as the thought of her trickles down from my subconscious. In this barren land, a drop of dew. Amid the harrows of death, a ray of life. At this hour of wakefulness, my eyelids droop, my brows contract, and my lips mumble. I look up, and with a pacing heart, my mouth opens with the sound of my love. My mind suddenly fills with joy. Blissful! “Did I hear her voice?”, my lips waver, and a drop of tear rolls down my cheek. I smile thinking of her. I know she is not around to hold me. I wish I could rest my head on her lap and feel the tenderness of her touch!

  With tears in my eyes, I jump off my bed and walk out of my tent. The camp is silent; few soldiers are guarding the resting warriors while few are arranging the ammunition for

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  the next day. I loiter around without any purpose. Where am I heading? I have no answer. I keep walking within the vicinity of our camp. The cool breeze with the pungent smell of blood and flesh penetrates the nostrils. Each pore of my body gets soaked in this morass, and the emotions float out through my eyes. Few soldiers look at me, and one of them asks, “Are you searching for anything?” I pause and answer “Yes, I have lost my childhood, and I have lost my peace, and now, with each passing day, I’m losing my sanity”. And I keep walking. The soldier stares at me, bemused and spellbound!

  There is no end to this skirmish, and there is no end to the bloodshed, at least I can’t find any. Both sides of the army are equally decimating, but the war doesn’t seem to be ending. I continue walking, thoughts of old golden days flash through my mind. Those childhood memories when the only greed was to get an extra sweet from the mother; when the only wish was to get an extra hug from the grandsire; when the only desire was to sit near the Guru and learn an extra lesson of life, flash through my mind. Memories are magical; they bring tears and smile together. I smile within and start walking towards my tent to get some rest. I observe my swords and arrows and my six-cubits-long bows tied with multiple strings. I still remem- ber those days when the Guru taught us how to tie multiple strings in the same frame of a single longbow. Arjuna was always way ahead in mounting the countless arrows on the bowstrings. Arjuna was never tired of practising. He followed each instruction of Guru diligently. Most of his practice ses- sions were finished, with bloodied and sore palms. He was adamant for becoming the world’s best archer, and in quest of his ambition, he learned to shoot arrows using his both hands simultaneously. He is undoubtedly the best; and a rare ambi- dextrous warrior. Guru had certainly filled Kuru dynasty with

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  many warriors who are the pinnacle of courage and might. All may not be equalling Arjuna, but experts in their domains. Many have proved their might on the battlefield, and many are waiting for an opportunity. And one such hero, a warrior with the knowledge of universal arrows and missiles, the disciple of Guru Drona and Guru Parashuram, an invincible gladiator will undoubtedly mark his presence in the field tomorrow. With the fall of another wall in Kauravas camp, they will have to select a new commander. Duryodhana will pass the baton of the commandment, to his favourite, Karna. Tomorrow, without any apprehension, Karna will be their commandant.

  I still remember when Karna with his fathomless dedi- cation and infallible vision became a learnt scholar in the gurukul of Guru Drona. But the biggest hurdle in his growth was his envy for Arjuna’s growing popularity among other dis- ciples. Albeit older than Arjuna, Karna always felt jealous of Arjuna’s achievements. This jealousy and resulting anger and hatred brought him closer to my elder brother Duryodhana. For me, Karna was a mystery as I wasn’t sure of his lineage. Some used to say that he came from far off land Anga. While in Drona’s ashram nobody in the group expected him to become a learned archer, he was learning faster than any of us. He was beyond the expectations of both the masters, Drona and Kripa. But Guru Drona was committed to the grandsire Bhishma. He couldn’t think of any outsider competing with the gems of the Kuru dynasty. And Karna was proving the Guru wrong during the gurukul days. Sometimes Guru didn’t pay much attention to the knowledge of Karna, which used to leave him dejected. And one day, he decided to vacate the gurukul without any notice. Without graduating from Drona’s gurukul, Karna left on his own. Later, we got to know that he became a disciple of Guru Drona’s Guru, Parashuram.

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  I too was in the same wagon. Being born in the palace, I was part of the troop sent to Guru Kripa’s ashram with all Pandava and Kaurava brothers. But I was dejected with the continu- ous ignorance of Duryodhana who never accepted me as his brother. I was around, but my presence made no difference. I was part of the games, but my wins didn’t cheer anyone. My happiness and my pains had no values in front of my broth- ers. For Duryodhana, I was just another boy in the palace who should serve his orders. This dejection and unwarranted rudeness from my brothers drove me closer to Pandavas, and I found a new friend in Bhima.

  Nobody foresaw that the same undecided and confused boy would one day become the commander of the large army of Kauravas. Duryodhana befriended Karna during childhood days, and he trusts Karna more than his brothers. Duryodhana knows that one person who can counter the fury of Arjuna on the battlefield is Karna. And Karna too reciprocates to Duryodhana’s trust equally. With the confidence of knowledge attained after years of dedication, Karna will lead his foes tomorrow. “But why am I baffled?”, with a smirk on my face I murmured. I smiled while gazing at the depths of the mirror in a Mashaal lit tent. The trust of Duryodhana and the confidence of Karna will not be easy for our commander to counter. The death, without doubt, will dance on the field.

  The night seems to be longer to me, and I get no sleep. I try to come out of my childhood memories. But the rough mem- ories always remain in the subconscious. For that matter, few sweet memories too. During that heartlessness and rudeness of Duryodhana in childhood when I felt morose and deserted, I found a tinge of love in Swastika. And when she came closest to my heart, I never realized. Her warmth helped me face the

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  coldness of my own family. And at these times of killings and violence, I feel her presence around me each night. Wounds on my body pain, but my heart finds solace in the memories of that golden hue girl. I feel her tender fingers surfacing through my wounds. I feel the warmth of her breathes in these breezy nights. Her fragrance blankets the melancholy of my loneliness. And I feel energized each time; she appears in my memories.

  The uncontrolled emotions kept flowing throughout the night and finally the rays of sun killing the darkness glitter sky and sand once again. The chirp of birds overpowers the howls of jackals, and the melting tiny droplets of dew over leaves diminish the smell of blood in the air. The soothing breeze entering the tent penetrates each pore of the body and refreshes the soul. Like the past fifteen mornings, every soldier gets into his defined routine. The ostlers and mahouts feed the animals, and other soldiers arrange their quivers and ammunition. The chariots are decked with thousands of arrows, swords, maces and lances. The pennons in each chariot fly high depicting the glory of the warrior. The steeds are yoked to the chariots, and the palanquins are placed on top of the jumbos. The warriors wear the thick mail to cover their bodies, leather sheaths to cover the arms, and the heavy metal gears to protect the heads. The regiment gets arranged into defined arrays divided into smaller groups, led by group-lead- ers under the commands of Dhrishtadyumna. Pandavas and the Panchal army managed to overpower their foes in the last fifteen days. The will of Pandavas has pierced the strengths of Kauravas blatantly despite the huge difference in the number of soldiers.

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  The morning huddle bell rings, and per routine, the warriors gather at the meeting hall. Yudhishthira is seated in the middle with Dhrishtadyumna at his right and Bhima at left. The other warriors sit around them. I place myself at some distance. After greeting everyone around him, Yudhishthira speaks, “O valiant warriors! With all your dedication and undying efforts, we have managed to control Kauravas. That lor
d of injustice has received the fitting reply. Even though we are one and half times lesser in the count, the fear of death never stopped you. Hundreds of generations will remember your sacrifices. You are heroes, you are trailblazers, and you are the valour.”

  With the beating of drums and blare of conches, each word of Yudhishthira is welcomed. Hail the King! Everyone shouts in unison. The army is energetic; the soldiers are devoted. There is no sign of fear and no sign of grief. There is only one vision, and there is only one goal – Victory.

  Yudhishthira silences the energetic souls, looks at Arjuna and speaks again, “O ambidextrous! You have achieved the feat which you vowed. The cause of our son’s death is dead, but this battle is not over yet. During our exile, you always told us that Karna is our biggest threat. The time has come to uproot that threat. The time has come to avenge the injustice meted out to Draupadi and the time has come to win back what we lost thirteen years ago. O my dearest brother, you have gath- ered all the knowledge and cultivated the skills to fight against any warrior on this planet. O Arjuna! Disown all your fear, rise and root out the bulwark named Karna. Yesterday was theirs; today is yours, and tomorrow will be ours.”

  Arjuna, the wielder of Gandiva, and the upholder of victory, with no sign of fear on his face, stands up and roars affirming

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  each word of Yudhishthira. He knows the potential of Karna and the power of weapons he owns. But he knows the revenge of Abhimanyu’s death is not complete without Karna’s death. Karna was one among those who scripted the merciless killing of his son. The revenge of death is death. This is the war. Outside the battle, we are humans. In a war, we are avengers. Arjuna vows to slay Karna. Arjuna has many times proved his superi- ority, but Karna is unpredictable. The one name which must be in everyone’s thoughts today in both the camps is Karna.

  The commander commands the army to march towards the field for the sixteenth time. The never-ending energy of the sol- diers keeps the momentum going, but the loss is inevitable. I mount on my chariot, and my charioteer commands the steeds to move towards my place in the array. We will position our- selves in a crescent-shape arrangement with Bhima leading the forces. I smile while looking at Bhima. I still remember the day of our childhood when Duryodhana mixed poison in his food and pushed him into the river full of venomous snakes. The chances of his survival were thin, and everyone believed that he would not come back. But beating all the odds, Bhima came back bemusing everyone, especially Duryodhana. That day his trust in me multi-folded as I warned him about the treach- erous acts of Duryodhana. But ignoring my warnings, Bhima ate all the viands presented by Duryodhana. After all, the food was always his weakness. “Even today is!” I murmur and smile. Sudasa looks at my smiling face in bewilderment. I look back and signal him to keep moving. Our lives have changed a lot, and the foolish squabbles of childhood have turned into the life-risking rivalry.

  We reach in the middle of the battlefield in the form of a crescent-shaped array. The Kauravas have also gathered on

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  the opposite side. Shakuni and his son Uluka are standing in front followed by Ashwatthama and other Kaurava brothers. A large army of Gopas is following them. The entire troop is protected by the group of strongest elephant warriors. But where is Karna? Like everyone, my eyes also search for him. Is he not the new commander? Then who? Shakuni can’t lead the Kauravas and neither Uluka.

  “Son of the charioteer must be hiding somewhere.”, remarks Bhima. I always wonder why Bhima calls Karna, son of a char- ioteer. Soldiers in Bhima’s retinue laugh at his comment. I look at Bhima; he is best at harassing others with words. That day also in the palace of Indraprastha after the Rajsuya Yagna, it was Bhima who mocked at Duryodhana’s folly.

  “O son of Dhritarashtra! That is a mirror; the door is on the other side.”

  And everyone laughed that day too, not knowing that the price would be paid later by Draupadi in the courtroom of Hastinapur. Speech is powerful. Words can be disastrous.

  Bhima never misses a chance of using the cusswords against his foes. And as he commented today as well, I look at him and smile at his childish remarks. While Bhima was busy entertaining his troop, the rattle of a chariot reached my ears. With the sun shining in the east, the reflection of golden mail falls on our eyes. The hooves of steeds create gusts at the centre of the field. Penetrating the dust in a golden chariot pulled by four white steeds of the high breed, covered in golden mail, with six cubits long and heavy bow Vijaya, enters the warrior. Karna is in the field. His entry in the battlefield waves off the doubts, indeed Karna is the commander of Kauravas. The sun

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  rays fall on his headgear as if the Sun God himself blessing him for the day. His chariot stops ahead of Shakuni and Uluka. The array is thus complete. This is a Makara array formed by Karna against our crescent-shaped array. The conches herald in the field welcoming their commander. Arjuna picks his Devadatta and answers the signal of foes. All our warriors and soldiers resonate the sound signalling the start of the day. The day sixteen of the war starts. Sometimes fate decides the flagellation; sometimes humans get into self-mortification.

  The soldiers rush towards each other. Bhima roars on the field resembling the thundering strike by Indra. Karna takes the lead of striking. He is violent. He is fearless. His long cloth- yard shafts start punishing anyone coming in his target. The continuous strikes from him do not give enough time to think and react. In the blink of an eye, he picks a few arrows, mounts them on the multiple threads of his bow and releases them at once. Arrow by arrow, strike by strike, he is cruising towards us. The outer layer of our array is destroyed by him, and the loud cries of fear and wailing of the dying have filled the field. The animals wander in different directions with their injured masters and some even master-less. Karna is not sparing anyone coming in his way. Nakul rushes towards Karna with his quiver filled with sharpest arrows and shafts. Bhima, on the other side, counters the strikes from Ashwatthama. Arjuna is fighting with the vast army behind the Kaurava brothers while Sahadeva counters Dushasana. Satyaki checks the other valiant princes who are supporting Duryodhana. Uluka strikes at me. I cut off his attack with my pointed shafts and arrows. Each of his arrows is broken in the mid-air by my keen shafts. The strike continues for some time. Beholding no end to the duel with the normal arrows, I pick my heaviest bow and mount a venomous arrow on it. I bend the bow circling it and release

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  the arrow towards him. The next moment, it pierces the flesh on his chest and with a loud thud, he falls on his chariot. Blood starts pouring out. Soon, he swoons, and his charioteer then drives him away.

  “Leave everything and live a life of an ascetic, O eldest of Pandu sons, you glorify our kingdom with your knowledge and wisdom. My son doesn’t listen to me, but you listen and seek for peace. Nothing can be gained by a war.” The message of my father for Yudhishthira suddenly flashes in my memory, as I strike Uluka. He was Uluka who acted as a messenger of my father and took his message for Yudhishthira.

  The message to sacrifice everything for Duryodhana was coated with the sugar of peace. The harmony among the brothers was impossible, and Duryodhana already rejected the peace proposal. Thus, it was my father’s final attempt to avoid battle. But how? By asking Yudhishthira to leave every- thing which was lawfully his. And for whom? Duryodhana, his arrogant and deceitful son, who never left a chance to hoodwink Pandavas. Unethical! The blind love for his sons had shielded my father from the light of rational and intel- lect as well. Mother Gandhari added a copious amount of ignorance by blindfolding herself. A piece of cloth didn’t just shield her vision but obstructed her view of the truth too. All the Kaurava brothers were left, with no reverence for anyone. They pounced on what they liked and destroyed what they couldn’t achieve. When they understood that the Pandavas were their competitors for the throne, the harmony was burnt in the house of wax. When they couldn’t achieve the feat of Pandavas, their morality stooped in the courtroom of Hastinapu
r. The blind father and blindfolded mother recklessly consented to the vicious desires of their

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  sons. And today, this quagmire is being scrubbed against humanity.

  The sun gradually moves towards the centre in the firmament. The orange ball is becoming angrier and showing no mercy on the soldiers fighting on the field. Sweat mixed with blood flows down the wounded bodies of mighty warriors. The heap of mortals with broken skulls and bones lay across the field. The dead bodies are everywhere, and so are the cries of death. This battle is becoming furious and ferocious each day. All the bat- tles fought before, are incomparable. The soil of Kurukshetra will remember it for thousands of years, and the future will fear to witness such disastrous stigma again. A battle where a Brahmana gives tough combat to Kshatriyas. A Brahmana teaches Kshatriyas the war strategies and a Kshatriya defying all the rules chops-off the head of a meditating Brahmana. A Brahmana overlooking the Dharma commands the Kshatriyas to rip-off the life of a young warrior, and Kshatriyas defy the rules as never before. Both are endued with knowledge; both have unparalleled prowess, but both lack humility. How will the future justify this war? How will generations remember their forefathers? Do I have an answer? Unfortunately, I’m a part of this skirmish, fighting against my brothers. How different will I be from these two groups of cousins? The twangs, clangs, strikes, and cries, this land of Kurukshetra is being flooded with everything but peace. Mother Earth is observing all the rants. She is just a mute spectator of the agony of her children fighting for a piece of her.