Yuyutsu - Rise of the last Kaurava

by Aniket Sharma

  The battlefield is filled with wails and cries, and amid the uncontrollable grief stand the victors. Who will listen to the glory of the hectors fought valiantly? Who will sing the eulogy? Death is ashamed, and the valour must be embar- rassed. “Where are my sons? Where are my grandsons?”, shouts the wailing father, MY father, Dhritarashtra. He walks on the field barefoot. The lord of Hastinapur, the king, the protector of the throne wails incessantly in a hope to hold his dead son’s head once. He is crying, and his grief is fathomless. Nobody can sense the vanishing droplets from the ocean, but the ocean knows the loss.

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  I rush towards my father. To hold him, to support him. To lend my shoulder and to tell him that I have survived the bru- tality to continue his legacy. I reach to him. The inconsolable breaths and pants speak of an eternal loss. I put my hand on his shoulder, “O Father! Rise…”

  “Yuyutsu, is that you?” he asks.

  “Yes, Father”, I whisper. He doesn’t respond further. My presence doesn’t console his grieving heart.

  “I can feel the thorn pierced deep in your heart. But every- thing created, ends in destruction one day. Everything that rises, is sure to fall. Like every union ends with separation, mortal life ends with death. Death is the only certainty. Every creature is dragged to death, including the creator. This life is nothing, but the time leased by death. This is not the time to wail for the loses. This is the time to honour the warriors, dead and the ones standing in front of you.”, I condole.

  He holds my hand and stands up. “Where is Bhima?”, he asks, clearing his throat and wiping his tears.

  “I am here, right in front of you, O uncle”, replies Bhima with a clear conscience.

  “Come closer, my son. Let me embrace the strongest descen- dent of Kurus. You achieved what you avowed. My sons did nothing right, and they met their destiny. But I congratulate you”, he continues.

  Bhima walks towards him, a bit sceptical. He was certainly not expecting this kind of speech. Neither was I, but I feel a

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  tinge of happiness in my pit. There seem to be no qualms. My father has accepted the sons of Uncle Pandu. As Bhima walks closer, Krishna rushes towards him. In the blink of an eye, he picks a metal statue, used as a shield to disguise during wars, from a chariot standing nearby, and places it in front of my father. In utter dismay to all of us, my father crushes that metal statue. His anger bursts the metal piece, and his grief floats through the eyes. He doesn’t leave the metal, till he realizes he made a mistake. He kneels with his face hidden behind his two palms. We all are stupefied. Krishna walks towards him and says, “Rise O King! Leave thy grief. Kill your mental grief by the power of your wisdom. This human body is a chariot with our principles as the charioteer. The senses are its stallions, and the wisdom its traces. Life starts with the condition of its end. It is time to accept the victors. Accept that the throne belongs to Yudhishthira and hand it over to the right heir.”

  My grief-struck father rises with teary eyes. I rush forward to extend my support, and he holds my shoulder. The days of me sitting on his shoulders flash in front of my eyes. Tears are still streaming down his cheeks from his eyes. The pants in his breathing represent the sorrow of a hundred dead sons.

  “Yuyutsu!”, he screams in a hoarse voice. “Father! I am here.”, I respond gravely. “Yuyutsu! I know you have decided to support Yudhishthira. Sanjay told me on the first day of the war.” I look down. I don’t know what to answer. I am silent. He continues, “You are equal to Duryodhana for me. I never differentiated among my sons, be it these hundred or you. You are my son. I have no grudge with the decision you made. It was yours.”

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  I am still silent. My lips refuse to part. My heart wants to talk, but my tongue refuses. The words don’t reach my mouth. My mum face looks at my dejected father. I wonder if he would try to crush me too like that metal statue. I’m unsure of what he wants exactly and what is storming his heart and mind.

  “I have no qualms with you, son. My anger vanishes with these shattered metal pieces. You had decided on your life, and it came as a blessing for me. At least one son of mine is alive”, he embraces me with these comforting words. And like a toddler, I wrapped myself into his arms.

  “Gandhari! Let’s not cherish any ill feelings towards the sons of Pandu”, says the lord of Hastinapur in a broken but cheerful voice.

  “I don’t have any bad feelings against them. The sons of Kunti are like my own sons. I treasure their victory, the victory over my sons. My sons met their fate. The sons of Kunti met theirs. Life knows the trick of balance. Yudhishthira with his brothers will be welcomed by the denizens of Hastinapur. The throne is waiting for its new owner, the right heir”, replies mother.

  I try to decipher the words of the mother because I’m yet again surprised. The woman, who has lost her hundred sons whom she loved beyond anything, shouldn’t be forgiving the Pandavas so easily. The anger in the heart of the mother is not coming out through her voice. But this could be silence before a thunderstorm. Yudhishthira signals his brothers to walk towards mother Gandhari and seek her blessings. The brothers walk behind the eldest. They reach near the grieving mother and Yudhishthira bows down before her. As he bends and seeks her blessings, she turns her face towards him, and

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  suddenly the toe of Yudhishthira’s right foot becomes red. It looks like someone has set it ablaze. He immediately steps back with the shrieks of pain. Arjuna and other brothers get alert and stop. The dazzled brothers look at each other and search for the source, but nothing could be traced.

  Yudhishthira bows down before the mother again and says, “O mother! If this wasn’t enough to cool the ire inside you, my head is bowed before you. I am the murderer of your clan, and you have all rights to punish me. I surrender myself before you.” Looking at her carefully, I decipher that from the corner of her blindfold, mother Gandhari had glanced upon the toe and the anger within her burnt it. It was the strength of her anguish which she carried for years.

  But now, emotions melted; she cries with a loud wail. The weeping queen blindfolded herself to feel the pain of her husband. But she became blind towards everything, including the deeds of her sons. The dignity of a young woman which was hurt years ago has devastated the entire kingdom today. That was the time when she was forced to marry a blind man against all her wishes. Mother Gandhari and misfortune are old friends.

  “I have no grievance against you; neither at you nor your brothers. With the arrogance swelling in the minds of my sons, their end was certain. But there was one act which stirred my resentment. The act of Bhima killing Duryodhana was against the rules of mace duel. And it happened before the very eyes of Krishna. O Krishna! I thought you would balance Dharma better than any other warrior in this field. I believed you would stop any misdeed during the war. But I was wrong, I misjudged. You witnessed all the unethical acts

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  silently. The killing of the grandsire, the guru, and finally, my son Duryodhana. You never stopped any deed against the rule and law. You have destroyed the entire clan without picking a single weapon. How will I forgive you?”, addresses mother to Krishna and Bhima.

  I can feel the fear on the face of mighty Bhima for the first time. I don’t know what he did, but the words of mother and reaction of Bhima resemble his offences. My eyes become wider. I want to hear what has happened. “Why did I agree to lead the caravan and leave the field?” I murmur. I help my father sitting on a chariot standing nearby and walk towards Bhima. I look at his eyes. He knows what I want to listen.

  Bhima joins his palms, and says, “Mother! I am the culprit, I have killed Duryodhana unlawfully. I accept the folly, but your son was an expert in mace fighting. He was tougher than me, and his skills were beyond my knowledge of handling maces. He made me feel like a feeble and incompetent fighter, in front of his mace. And I couldn’t bear the embarrassment in front of my mentor and my brothers. He practised mace fighting for full thirteen y
ears when we were away on exile, and his learn- ings were paying off during the duel. I had no answers to any of his moves, and my attacks on him were proving futile. It was extreme for my shame. My strength was feeble before him. And then I saw Arjuna signalling something. He was patting his thigh. The memories of what happened in the courtroom flashed, and I remembered my vow. Tied in the shackles of my vow, I lifted my mace and shattered the thighs of Duryodhana. He cried in pain. Blood poured out from his body, and he fell on the ground. I put my foot on his chest to free his soul, but brother Yudhishthira stopped me. Duryodhana was punished for what he did, but yes it was against the law of mace duel.”

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  His eyes become moist, and voice hoarse. He knows gener- ations will remember his act, and the future will cast several questions on him.

  “Mother! Your son was one of the greatest warriors. He was a skilled mace fighter and an intelligent strategist. I couldn’t stand before him during the duel, and an unlawful act was done. I had defeated him before, so I was confident that I would do it again. But this time it was different. His practice of thirteen years was stronger than my confidence. I saw the faces of my brothers. I shouldn’t be failing. I could never have lived with the burden of failure. The act was unjust, and it has no explanation. But I seek your forgiveness.”, continues Bhima.

  I am shattered. Each word from Bhima’s mouth pierced my heart. I never expected him to act against righteousness. The truth always held the reins of his life. The war has changed the fabric of our souls. The followers of truth have learnt to manipulate. I look at Krishna. As always, a smile adorns his lips. Bhima is still standing with his hands folded behind his elder Yudhishthira.

  “I may forget your act. But how will I forget the wailings of my daughters-in-law? Look around. The cries and grief are everywhere. The wailing wives, the crying mothers and griev- ing sisters, there is no end to their melancholy. Hundreds of thousands of living souls are martyred now but look at the misfortune of these women around. They are struggling to find the remains of their missing ones. They know the dead will not return but are still hoping for a miracle. Who will fill the grooves in their lives? They will live with the taint in their hearts for the rest of their lives. Look at the wives of your sons, your future is equally hurt.”, the grieving mother replies to

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  Bhima’s explanation. The entire battlefield is a jungle of dead today. There is no sign of life. The canines are feasting on the flesh of fillies and pachyderms while the kin of dead soldiers trying to whoosh them away from near the corpses.

  “The carnage of the eighteen days was felt by me, each arrow at a time! The fall of grandsire, the death of guru; demise of my brothers, and the end of my sons, I felt each event of this bat- tlefield. Each death came with agony and a new source of pain. I lost everything, pride, love, possessions, and the position of being called a mother queen. Eighteen days and nothing left around me. Listen to these wailings. Who is the cause of these all? Yudhishthira? Arjuna? Or Duryodhana? The one person who could have stopped this carnage hasn’t done it. He wit- nessed all in front of his eyes and even provoked the killings. He manipulated the rules and bent the laws. Look at the audac- ity. He is still standing in front of us, smiling. The calmness. O Krishna! Am I right? Why didn’t you stop the misdeeds on the battlefield?”, sobs the queen, the mother of hundred dead sons.

  Astonished! I look at calm Krishna. He is smiling calmly with no reactions to the maligning words of the mother. He knows the mother has no qualms for him. He moves slowly towards her, folds his hands and says, “Mother! Your son has achieved what he sowed. The thorns of hostility pierced him. The enmity he grew for years defeated him. I remember him trying to capture me when I came to Hastinapur as a peace messenger. The belligerence, hatred, and the animosity have filled each cell of his body. And the same hatred was sweat- ing out from his pores even when he was hiding inside the pool. The fear of being killed led him to hide inside the pond, but the destiny was decided years ago. He wrote his demise. Before leaving this world, he cursed me that I would live to

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  see hell while his soul would enjoy heaven. Death of all your sons is heavy on your heart, but the time has come to accept the fate and move towards the future of the Kuru dynasty with the future of the throne.” Krishna tries to pacify the wailing mother but seems his words aren’t enough to calm the racing heart. How will they?

  She walks a step back and raises her tone again, “Krishna! You are an expert manipulator of speech. Your words soothe the mourning hearts, but today they don’t make any impact on me. The death of my sons has made me stone hearted. The motherhood inside me is dead with the death of my sons. There is nothing left for me to long. You will never understand the pain of crying wives and grieving orphans till you see it hap- pening in your clan. Till the time you experience the downfall of your empire, you will never understand the anguish. And today, I curse you…”

  I am awestruck. My ears couldn’t believe what I just heard. “I curse you…” “No mother, please refrain!” I tried to stop,

  but the arrow was already released.

  “…I curse you. Like I had to see the death of my sons, and my clan; you will also see the downfall of your clan. You will witness similar quagmire once again. You will see the broth- ers fighting once again. You will experience the wailings once again. But despite all your efforts, you will be unable to restrict the hatred. Your followers will not listen to your advice, and your people will quarrel with you. Today, you haven’t lifted any weapon, but you are equally responsible for the deaths. But the day will come when you will want to lift arms, but your Sudarshan will not follow your commands. You will not

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  achieve martyrdom. Your death will be of an ordinary man, and the world will never remember it. Several generations will talk about the death of Duryodhana but not of yours. Your soul will leave the earth in the most unanticipated way. The death will touch your feet without realizing whose life she is stealing, and your soul will depart, leaving nobody behind”, curses the wailing mother.

  The words pierced everyone present in the field. Stunned faces look at each other. The curse of death from the symbol of birth, a mother. Ironical! A war not only takes lives but kills compassion too.

  Krishna folds his hands and bows down before the mother. He accepts each word uttered by mother Gandhari. He smiles and says, “I am not responsible for the deaths of your sons. I haven’t fought any battle. The world calls me Rannchhor, one who ran away from the battlefield. Your sons, including Duryodhana, were killed by Bhima. Arjuna defeated Karna and grandsire Bhishma. Dhrishtadyumna killed Guru Drona. And Shakuni’s life was ended by Sahadeva. I am nowhere involved, but even then, you convict me guilty of all these deaths. Here I am O mother, standing in front of you, accepting the curse of yours. I am grateful you have shown me the path of my nirvana. But accepting the truth will be your path for nirvana. The time has come to shed all the hatred and embrace these Pandava brothers as your sons.”

  Yudhishthira folds his hands and bows down his head; the other brothers follow their elder. Everyone is as star- tled as I’m. What is happening now? But surprising every- one, Mother Gandhari raises her hands to bless the sons of mother Kunti.

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  Mother Gandhari accepts the Pandava brothers as the victors. “Will she forget everything?” only her heart knows. I know her love for Duryodhana. If possible, she would have become a shield for her son. But alas! Life doesn’t always come with chances; one has to create them. I walk towards her and seek her blessings. She pleasantly blesses me, Long Live! I touch her feet, and as I turn towards mother Kunti, she asks, “Yuyutsu! Have you met Sugadha?”

  The name brings a smile to my face with hundreds of mem- ories. Weeks before when we left for Kurukshetra, she sent me with moisty eyes. “Let the victory be yours!”, she said while handing over my sword to me. “Let this sword be your signature on the battlefield. Remember, you are the son of a Kshatriya father.
Your opponents should get scared of seeing you on the battlefield. You are a born warrior, always ready to combat. O Son! Follow your Dharma and be victorious.”, my mother blessed me. I can’t control my emotions after listening to her name and rush to hug her.