“I rushed to signal the sons of queen Draupadi. They responded to my call and came out armed, but there was no time for them to don shields and gears. They countered the raging tornado, but the young boys couldn’t stand for long against the skilled Ashwatthama. He used all his strength and strongest arrows in his quiver to smite each son of yours. The dying sons cried for their lives, they shouted your names to get protection, but the voices were suppressed. They couldn’t survive for long and succumbed to the injuries. I was continu- ously calling for help, but there wasn’t any warrior left to seize the fury of Ashwatthama.” Tears roll down his cheeks when the terrified charioteer tries to recall the haunted memories.
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Everyone weeps listening to the horrified death of the sons. Draupadi couldn’t control her emotions. With a loud wail, she kneels beside the dead bodies of her sons. The glee of winning vanished in just one night.
“Ashwatthama must die. I seek the revenge of the death of my sons and my brothers. I seek the death of Ashwatthama. The pearl decked on his forehead, resembling his strength and youth, must not remain with him any longer.”, cries grieving Draupadi while beating the earth with her palms.
“Nakul! Prepare the chariot. O Suta! in which direction did Ashwatthama escape?”, asks an angry Bhima.
His rageful voice once again roars in the field. The moun- tainous giant is ready to crush the skull of the biggest enemy of Dharma. In no time Nakul brings the chariot with the reins controlling the steeds in his hands. He signals to be the chari- oteer of Bhima. Bhima acknowledges and mounts the chariot and they both cruise towards the direction shown to them. Ashwatthama had gone towards the place where Bhima defeated Duryodhana last evening.
“Maybe he wanted to share the story of the carnage before his dying friend!”, I speak within.
As Bhima and Nakul leave, Krishna asks Arjuna, “O Arjuna! Delay not and follow Bhima. Ashwatthama has the universal missile Brahmashira with him, and if he uses it, there will be even bigger carnage. The weapon has the power to destroy all the living beings on this planet. And only you know how to counter that universal arrow.” Krishna asks Daruka to bring the chariot, and once again, he is ready to hold its reins.
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They both ascend the chariot and follow Bhima. Yudhishthira commands all of us to follow too. We rush towards the direction shown to us.
The steeds cruise through the wind, and soon we reach near the spot where the duel between Bhima and Duryodhana happened yesterday. My heart melts beholding the motion- less body of my elder. Throat dries, nerves get cold, lips shiver, and sweat drips from temple to toe. The prince, the pride of my father, the owner of eleven Akshauhini army, is lying barefoot with shattered mail and crushed thighs. The blood oozed through the wounds has dried up, and the soul left the owner hours ago. Our plight changes with time, and destiny is blamed!
Destiny! Time to face it once again.
I jump off my chariot and rush to embrace my brother; the last gesture to bid farewell to my eldest.
Albeit he was rude in his behaviour, but he was soft with his loved ones. And the ones whom he trusted, have outshone the era. He gave liberty and freedom to his friends to grow and reach the zenith of their potentials. As I walk, I remember, in flashes, hundreds of stories from our childhood. And tears do not stop rolling!
“Where are you, O murderer? where are you, O son of Guru Drona? Where are you hiding, O Ashwatthama? Come forward; your time has come. God Yama will be happy seeing you today in his abode”, roars Bhima.
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The angry warrior summons his antagonist but no response; his voice echoes in the empty field devastated of life. There is no sign, neither the presence nor the voice of Ashwatthama. He must have escaped sensing the danger after his petrified attacks on the sleeping soldiers. Bhima is con- tinuously cursing him, trying to provoke the hidden warrior but all in vain. He asks Sahadeva and Nakul to perform the search. They pondered for a few minutes but returned bare- handed. A few minutes later a huntsman comes near Bhima. His face seems familiar to me. “Oh! He is the daily meat sup- plier of Bhima”, I recall. The huntsman shares some news with Bhima, and the frustrating eyes of Bhima turn joyous. The spark in his eyes widened as if he found a treasure that he’s been searching.
In a loud voice, Bhima says, “Nakul! Take the chariot towards the northern side. Gurudeva Vyasa is performing yagna and Ashwatthama is hiding in his hermitage. The time has come to vanquish the wreath of that perpetrator. The time has come to avenge the death of our sons.”
Nakul follows the command, and we follow Nakul. We reach the camp of Rishi Vyasa. Krishna has already expressed his fear of Ashwatthama using the celestial weapon. Thus, he asks Bhima to stop and tells Arjuna to lift his Gandiva and be ready to counter any unfitting act. Arjuna gets down from the chariot with his bow and quiver hanging from his shoulders. We all follow him. Reaching near the meditating Rishi, we bowed down.
“Welcome Sons, what desire of yours has brought you all here?”, asks the sage without even opening his eyes. Seems, he has sensed our presence in his hermitage.
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“Ashwatthama has created the carnage. He, defying all the rules, has killed mercilessly, all the Panchals, including the sons of Draupadi. We came to know that he is hiding in your hermitage. The desire of vanquishing that mulish renegade has brought us here”, replies Bhima in a hoarse voice.
The sage smiles and commands Ashwatthama to come out. Ashwatthama after last night’s carnage came to the hermitage of Rishi Vyasa.
“There is no point in hiding now”, roars Bhima and rushes towards the son of Drona.
Arjuna and other Pandava brothers follow him with me at last. Ashwatthama’s eyes drool. He knows his end is evident. He shouts, “I avenged the death of my best friend. The dying and hurt Duryodhana made me the commander after Salya died. The war was not over after Bhima thrashed his thighs. The war is not over even now. I, the son of Drona, am alive. Till I breathe my last, I will not let the prestige of my friend go down.”
His eyes are moist, his voice is hoarse, but his confidence is at zenith. Even being surrounded by the five Pandavas, Krishna, and I, he isn’t petrified. Instead, he roars like a violent beast. His roar resembles his end, but he doesn’t want to give up. He lifts his bow, mounts an arrow on it and summons the Pandavas, “Whoever wants to face death, come forward. I pledged on the deathbed of my best friend; Pandavas will not survive. Last night, I couldn’t kill you. But I won’t spare you today.” And he releases the arrow mounted on his bow. It passes through the left ear of Arjuna and uproots the tree standing before him. It was Ashwatthama’s invitation to Arjuna. Arjuna
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looks at Krishna and Yudhishthira; Yudhishthira nods his head and permits him to retaliate. This great warrior knows how to answer any summon. But he also knows the prestige of an Ashram, and thus, Arjuna walks forward, bows down before the sire seeking his permission for the duel in the hermitage. The sage lifts his hand, and his eyes signal the affirmation.
Arjuna lifts Gandiva, mounts an arrow on it and with blazing twang releases it in the sky. The welkin shivers and the thun- derous bolt glitter in the sky. Arjuna accepts the summon. Ashwatthama was taught secrets of battle by his father. He can defeat thousands of soldiers at once. He can kill hundreds of warriors, but today he is standing before Arjuna. I know his calibre is not equal to Arjuna’s, but I am elated witnessing, how my brother built his friendships all these years. Karna sacrificed his life a few days ago, and today Ashwatthama is ready to combat. And he is willing to sacrifice his life when Duryodhana is not even alive to praise his efforts. Amid all this, it seems, the only person who betrayed my elder is, I.
Ashwatthama is ready with his bow, and as Krishna feared, he calls Brahmashira, a universal missile capable of destroying the entire planet. To counter the impact, Arjuna calls Brahmastra, another equally deadly weapon. We are awestruck. If the two missiles collide, it will be disastrous. Gurudeva Vyasa knows the impact, an
d so do all of us. Ashwatthama is determined, and so is Arjuna. Nobody wants to step back, and with the arrows mounted on their bows, they both start chanting the mantras to power the missiles. The mantras will enable the missiles, and as they collide, it will result in the chain reactions of death. The air will be filled with poison, the water will get contaminated, and there will be fire all around. In no time, the plants, rivers, animals, and humans, all will be lifeless.
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The great sage Vyasa beholding the inanity rises from his seat, hastily comes forward, and commands them in a stern voice to stop chanting the mantras and instead call off the missiles. He knows the thousands who perished in the past eighteen days will be a fraction of the number of deaths if both these arrows collide. He looks at both of them and in loud voice commands, “Arjuna! Ashwatthama! Refrain from releasing the arrows. I command you not to commit this blunder. What Ashwatthama did was unpardonable. But to punish him, Arjuna, you shouldn’t misuse the power which your preceptor gave. Ashwatthama, what you did, was the result of your reverence for your friend but to save yourself, you can’t put an end to this world. Call off the weapons immediately.”
Arjuna follows the order and steps back. He recites a few mantras, and the arrow mounted on his Gandiva loses its glow. Everyone looks at Ashwatthama. He is stubborn. He is not willing to step back, and a smirk on his face affirms his adamance. “I will not call it off; first, this is my revenge on the Pandavas, and second, I don’t know how to call it back”, shouts angry Ashwatthama.
“I promised my friend that not only Pandavas but their future too, won’t survive”, continues Ashwatthama.
“Son! try to remember the mantras to nullify the weapon. It will destroy everything”, says the grandsire Vyasa in a concerned voice.
Ashwatthama guffaws boisterously and directs the arrow towards the camp of Pandavas. He chants a few more mantras and releases the mounted arrow. With a loud thud, celestial
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missile departs from his bow and the twang of his bow trembles the surroundings.
He continues to grin and speaks, “The world will not see the progeny of Abhimanyu. I have directed the weapon towards the womb of Uttara. The child in the womb of Uttara will never open eyes in this world. The child of Abhimanyu will be dead today.”
We are shocked; my spine shivered to behold the treacher- ous act of Ashwatthama. Nobody since the origin of the human race has killed the unborn yet. This act doesn’t deserve mercy and nor does Ashwatthama. What has happened today; will kill, the future of this world. The act of killing the foetus has taken birth today. The generations to come will be haunted, and humans will take thousands of years to realize the mistake Ashwatthama made today. The folly of killing an unborn should never be forgiven. I look at the sage. I look at Krishna, and I look at the Pandavas. All are awestruck. Suddenly, the wind stops blowing, birds stop chirping, and the river stops flowing. The animals stop moving, water stops falling from hills, and there is complete silence. It becomes difficult for me to breathe. I look around, but there is no sign of any move- ment. Krishna’s eyes are closed, and he has raised his right arm. The Sudarshan Chakra is rolling on his finger. Seems, the angry avatar of Vishnu is standing in front of us. He releases his Chakra, and it goes straight towards the son of Drona.
“This is the end of Ashwatthama.”
The Chakra hits the forehead of Ashwatthama targeting the gem decked on it. The pearl is the significance of Ashwatthama’s youth and power. It is concentrated, with the
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power of penances and austerities, his father disciplined for years. It was gifted to him by Guru Drona to ensure the safety and happiness of his son. The stone comes out with the power of Chakra. Krishna opens his eyes, calls back his weapon, and speaks angrily, “This act of yours will be shamed, for gener- ations. And I curse, you roam this earth without friends and foes for several years. Diseased, dying but not dead, your body will leak pus and blood and will haunt you for eternity. Your youth will disappear. You will long for death, but death will not listen to you.” Krishna then commands Ashwatthama to leave the hermitage.
I look at Ashwatthama; he shows no sign of penance. Ashwatthama is one of the greatest warriors born in this era. Albeit born in a Brahmana family, he followed the path of Kshatriyas and aspired to stand with warriors like Arjuna and Duryodhana. His skills outshone thousands of warriors, and his dedication made him wielder of universal missiles. But he greedily followed the wishes of another greedy, over-commit- ted himself and in the race of proving his dedication for his friend, committed an unpardonable crime.
“What atonement is there for attempting to kill an unborn?” I think within.
Ashwatthama walks away from the ashram, not knowing for how many years he will ponder before meeting his final fate.
Everyone looks worried about the impact of the universal weapon on Uttara and her unborn child. We look at Gurudeva Vyasa in anticipation. He looks around, lifts his right hand and directs towards the camp of Pandavas. He closes his eyes and chants a few mantras. A few moments later, he opens his eyes
and tells everyone not to worry, as his mantras will revive the unborn in the womb of Uttara. I see expressions of relief all around. Gurudeva then looks at Arjuna and says, “Uttara will give birth to the future of Kurus when the full months of pregnancy will over. Krishna’s blessings and my mantras will protect the unborn. Soon, a son will be born. The world will know him as Parikshit. He will be the successor of the throne of Hastinapur.” Arjuna smiles. The smile, not of victory but of visualizing the future in tiny form, I presume. The smile of imagining the pennant of Pandavas shining in the tiny arms, I believe. We all bow down to Gurudeva Vyasa’s power and depart from his hermitage.
GANDHARI
udhishthira hands over, the stone to Draupadi. The pearl once decked on the forehead of Ashwatthama, is in the control of Draupadi now. She can crush it, destroy it, or keep it forever as the remembrance of the death of her sons. Draupadi picks the gem, looks at it with anger. Mistrust and sadness shroud her, as she holds the pearl with trembling fingers. The shinning pearl resembles the death of her sons. For her, it is powerless, a mere piece of shining stone whose lustre will make her remember the downfall of the future of Pandavas
always.
With the pearl in her hand, she walks towards Yudhishthira and says, “Arya! Keep this gem with you. It is the symbol of gory and brutality. This gem will remind you always that the throne you will own, stands on the bones and blood of your sons. It will remind you that the throne stands on the sacrifices of not only your ancestors but also your sons and grandsons. This gem is not a symbol of your victory, but each time you will see it, your soul will affright remembering the ghastly eigh- teen days of war and what it did to our family!”
Tears continue to roll down her cheeks as she speaks. But this time more determined and affirmed. She has avenged her humiliation, and she has avenged the death of her sons too. But revenge comes with a cost; she was unwilling to pay. Revenge. On the cost of losing everything! She will be the queen but will
represent the millions of widows wailing in the city. Wails of daughters who lost their fathers, and the wails of sisters who lost their brothers in this dreadful act of hatred, will hound the walls of the palace of Hastinapur for years to come. War brings victory for few but defeat for all!
The news of the victory of Pandavas must have reached Hastinapur. That day, I returned to the battlefield leaving the caravan midway under the protection of my acolytes. They must have informed mother Kunti about the triumph of her valiant sons. They must have shared the dreadful news of the death of Kauravas with mother Gandhari. “But does she know that even Duryodhana is dead?”, I reflect while looking at the vast but silent battlefield. The blood pools in the battlefield start drying under the blazing sun. The sun, it seems, is work- ing impetuously to dry up the signs of ravage. But wounds take their own time to recover. The devastation explains the mag- nitude of cruelty. The carnivoro
us are happily feasting on car- casses, and they will continue treating themselves for weeks to come. The carnage is visible as far as the eyes could see. Not a single inch of land remains with a ray of life. All are dead, even the souls are. Amidst this deep silence and no sign of life suddenly, I hear a shriek. A cry of a wailing mother searching for her sons, “Sons! … O Dear Sons!”
“I know this voice.”, my heart melts. I turn around. Mother…
Mother Gandhari is walking towards the jungle of the dead. But she is not alone. A loud wail of woe is following her. The wail, which arose from every single house of Hastinapur, is heading towards the battlefield. The mothers, wives, sisters
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and children of the martyrs follow their king and the queen. They seem helpless, like a herd of dappled deer after the death of their master. The women clad in a single piece of white raiment have cast off all their ornaments and other beautiful tresses. The wives of thousands of soldiers who would not see their husbands again wail woefully. The children orphaned at a tender age run hither and thither in search of remnants of their fathers. The sisters look for the hands which prom- ised their protection but now lying motionless on the ground. The mothers afflicted with grief are inconsolable. They hold each other to control the emotions of others while their own, are uncontrollable. The dried-up emotions are like the end of a Yuga, their Yuga. The cries, pain, wail and sorrow in large numbers have surrounded the king, the helpless king of Hastinapur. Once the father of a century of strong sons, today, bereft of all of them. Accompanied by his wife, he walks towards the victorious Pandavas. The entire firmament which used to get filled with the twang of bows and clangs of swords during the battle days is stupefied by grief today. The laughter of killing the antagonists is grazed by the sorrow of dead sons today. What was prestige till yesterday became cruelty today!
Yuyutsu - Rise of the last Kaurava Page 17