“Yuyutsu…”, cries my mother. Tears roll down her cheeks, and she spreads her arms to embrace me. “Mother….”, I could only utter a word. I hug her; the emotions roll down my cheeks too. Emotional exchanges need no medium of transfer. I place my head on her shoulder as she surfaces her fingers through my hair. For moments, we both said nothing, but we under- stood, exactly what we felt. In the middle of this jungle of dead, I find a pinch of life in her lap. I find solace after many harrow- ing days shrouded with constant fear. Fear of not meeting my mother ever again. In a war, who knows which arrow cruises to steal your life? “This is the grace of Mahadeva, I see you after such a dreadful battle. I used to curse myself that I was not born in a family of Kshatriyas. But my son, you raised my
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pride today. I, Sugadha, am today a proud mother of a warrior, a strong warrior! Your prowess has made me equal to mothers of Pandavas and Kauravas. I will always be indebted to you.”, she continues sharing her feelings.
I continue sharing the stories of all these days with my mother, when panegyrists along with the priests come to the battlefield. The sun is moving gradually towards the western valley. Before the sun sets, the final rituals of the dead should happen. The head priests Sudharma and Dhaumya seek permission from my father to perform the last rites. The panegyrists sing the eulogies glorifying the martyrs. The words of eulogists try to suppress the cries of wailing mothers and wives all over the field. The dead bodies are put on the pyres, and Yudhishthira asks us to pay a final homage to the departed souls. The mantras are chanted, and the woods are lined up. The pyres are lit, and the entire field gradually turns crimson like a golden hue in the sky. The fire burns on the field, but the soul inside the body shivers. The farewell to the fathers, sons, brothers, friends and relatives, a final goodbye. The mothers cry, the wives weep, and the daughters scream, there is no end to the agony. The war is over. Pandavas have won. Draupadi’s insult is avenged. Bhima’s vows are fulfilled. Arjuna’s authority is claimed, and the throne gets a new heir, Yudhishthira.
The hatred, agonies, cries, pain, blood, sweat, vows, and a mul- titude of curses. What a paradox! The King’s throne stands on the pillars of hatred, and he walks on the ashes of the curses. The vows and curses have decimated the entire clan. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers achieved martyrdom in just eighteen
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days of the war. Few escaped, and few survived. Those who escaped will never see the glory of the throne, and those who survived would not forget the cost of this glory.
Amid these burning emotions stands me, a lone survivor as the descendent of Dhritarashtra. Have I survived to continue the legacy of my father or to glorify the fame of Pandavas? My mind shrieks within to find the answer, but my heart knows the reasons. I am alive today because of one decision I made. But that decision will haunt me forever with the thought of never coming to know about the secret of Duryodhana’s death. I will never come to know the truth, why Bhima shattered Duryodhana’s thighs and why the dying Duryodhana cursed Krishna. Why did Yudhishthira agree to have a duel between Duryodhana and Bhima? And why Arjuna signalled Bhima during the duel? Whatever I will know now will be the truth of Pandavas and the truth of Krishna. I will live the rest of my life with the guilt of not knowing the truth, the real truth! There is no absolute truth. What we read, and what we hear are all versions of the truth, but not truth itself!
“The pyres will burn overnight”, a thick voice comes from behind.
“But the one inside you must be silent today”, I reply.
“How did you feel after tasting your own blood, Bhima”, I added.
He smiles. “Will you accept that I never drank the blood of Dushasana”, he mentions.
“No”, I strongly negate.
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“I saw you pulling out his heart and crushing it like a pebble in between your strong palms. I saw you slurping the blood, and I saw your red teeth.”
“The world sees what you show. It is my truth that I touched Dushasana’s blood and not gulped it, but it’s your truth that you saw me drinking it”, he adds smilingly.
I smile back at him and pat his back. The memories of child- hood flash in front of eyes while I look at the burning pyres. When the games of childhood became hateful competitions, we never realized. From winning targets to make our Gurus happy to winning over people to make ourselves happy, we have transitioned which we never desired. And today all those million desires are burning in this vast field. This battlefield has painted herself with the colours of history. The price paid by this generation to claim the authority on the throne will always obligate the coming generations. The price is hefty, it is not the treasure seized in the coffers, but the lives burning in the pyres.
I look around. Yudhishthira is standing silently with a gloomy face. Loss of dear ones has overpowered the joy of winning.
“The future king of Hastinapur stands numb on the field.”
Bhima looks at me, raises his brows inquisitively. I nod my head slowly with a smile on my face but tears in my eyes.
The fire in the pyres is dozing off slowly. The wailing silences gradually. The flesh turns to ashes, and the strong warriors are now mere pieces of unburnt bones and ashes.
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The lifelong desires of claiming prosperity are burnt with the woods. What’s left? The hollowness, the emptiness, and a life- long groove of killing your selfish self. This life is not worth living, and nor is this death worth dying.
“We will perform the final rites of submerging the ashes on the banks of river Ganga”, says Yudhishthira while we look at the dimming fire.
Everyone nods in affirmation. The remains from the burnt pyres are filled in the pots, and we proceed towards river Ganga.
Yudhishthira decides not to enjoy any opulence and mate- rials, till the rituals are over. He decides to walk barefoot as a penance. The guilt of being blamed as the cause of all kill- ings is heavy, and the atonement will not be easy. He decides to perform the rituals and stay outside the boundaries of Hastinapur for one month till the mourning period is over. The other Pandava brothers too decide to follow their elder in this period of grief.
We reach the banks of river Ganga. The calm river flowing from the Himalayas is the gateway for all departed souls to attain moksha. The sages chant mantras, and the eulogists magnify the glory of departed souls. Yudhishthira comes forward and takes the responsibility of performing prayers for everyone. Be it Kaurava brothers or the late princes of Panchal, be it Guru or the grand uncle Bhurisravas, he pays homage to everyone with great reverence. I move forward to perform my duties for my clan, a homage to my brothers. Standing waist-deep
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in the pious water of river Ganga, one by one, I pray for each departed soul, remembering their presence around me; how people don’t care about the emotions when the loved ones are around but feel the pain only after they depart! Gradually the chanting of mantras fades, and I come out of the river after a holy bath.
The rituals slowly end, and we come out of water. We bow down before the sages and seek their blessings. Yudhishthira then walks towards mother Gandhari and requests her to go back to Hastinapur. Receiving the nod, he asks the charioteers to take the royal ladies, mothers and other aged denizens of Hastinapur who came to pay their final homage, back to the city. He decides to continue his prayers on the banks of the river. The calm mind seeks for peace within and outside. He then walks towards mother Kunti and asks her to follow others and return to Hastinapur.
Mother Kunti doesn’t look gratified even after her sons proved their strengths on the battlefield. She is quiet. She was silent even when mother Gandhari was bursting with curses against her sons. She didn’t utter a word but listened to mother Gandhari calmly. And observed her sons reacting to the wrath of the mother of a hundred sons. Yudhishthira asks her again to mount on the chariot. She is still like a stone, devoid of emo- tions as if something is pricking her, something deeper than deepest is unsettled.
Yudhishthira folds his hands and requests again, “Mother! I know I am the cause of this ugly battle. The war is over now. We have performed the rites. As a penance, I will not enjoy any affluence for a full one month. Is there anything which I haven’t done right? What is bothering you? Tell me O mother! I
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am at your command.” Kunti is mum. She is numb, motionless, and emotionless. She looks at the future king, embraces him, but doesn’t speak a word. Yudhishthira looks worried now. He looks at his brothers. All heads wiggle with no clues. He looks at me. I nod my head too. No clues. “If you are unable to find the answer, how would I?”, I smile within. Calmness hasn’t found shelter in the mother’s mind yet. She is struggling with her own emotions, deep into her heart which we are unable to weigh.
Yudhishthira is still unclear on how to clear the waves of emotions battling within mother Kunti. But he understands there is something irrational which bothers his mother. He is persistent in knowing the reason. He requests again. This time the numb lips move. With great difficulty and in a hoarse voice, the mother speaks, “O son! You haven’t paid homage to all your brothers. The prayers are incomplete till the souls of all your dead brothers attain peace.”
Yudhishthira looks stunned. I am bewildered and other Pandava brothers bemused.
“What is she trying to tell Yudhishthira?” I look at Krishna and signal him. He smiles back and nods his head. “O, Lord! I will never understand this man. Does he know answers to everything happening around?” I tell myself.
“I know what’s in your mind, Yuyutsu”, Krishna whispers near my ears. I am shocked. Did he overhear my thoughts?
In the hoarse voice and with shivering lips, mother Kunti says, “Your homage to your brothers will not be completed if you don’t do the last rituals for Karna.”
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“Karna…” Yudhishthira repeats in the rhythm of other Pandavas. I am clueless about what mother just uttered. “Why Karna?”, the bewildered mind tries to decipher.
“But why… he is not my brother”, Yudhishthira asks.
“Son! It is the hidden truth of my life which I lived with till now. Karna was your elder brother. My firstborn.”, she reveals sobbingly.
Bewildered Yudhishthira looks at Bhima. Bhima is equally flabbergasted, and I am stunned. But my emotions are differ- ent from those of Yudhishthira’s now. He is shocked because he never knew Karna was his brother. I am astonished because someone whose fate was similar to mine was my brother’s best friend. “Fate!”, I whisper while Bhima looks at me.
“What are you saying! Mother?” Yudhishthira asks again.
Mother hides her face behind her palms. First time I see her devastated. She was calmly listening to mother Gandhari’s sobs. She listened to her wails and curses. But she didn’t reveal what emotions were tearing her apart. Finally, the walls of patience break and she wails inconsolably. Yudhishthira walks closer to her and says, “If Karna was our brother, why didn’t you tell us before. Your silence made Arjuna guilty of killing his brother. You blanketed this secret for years. But where was Karna before becoming Duryodhana’s trusted friend? Did he know that we are his brothers?”, inquisitive Yudhishthira stops and gasps for air.
Beholding the impatient king, Sahadeva intervenes, “First, let’s do what our mother says, O elder brother!”
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Yudhishthira nods his head and walks towards the river- bank with flowers in his hands. He gets into the river, chants few mantras, and performs the prayers for the departed soul, the soul of his unknown brother.
Mother Kunti knows she has to answer the curious minds, and thus, she shares her secret before Yudhishthira asks again, “This was in my maidenhood when Rishi Durvasa once visited my father. He was pleased with the intellect he saw in the young me. He then blessed me with a mantra. It was no ordi- nary mantra. I had the mantra to call any God and could have a son from Him. I talked about this power to your father, and he accepted to have sons from the blessings of Gods. And thus, you all are boon born. Your father knew that I used the mantra thrice, and Madri was honoured with that once. What he didn’t know was I used the mantra in my maidenhood also.”
She continues to speak while we listen to her story with our eyes wide open. I feel connected; somewhere her story, of the birth of Karna, is similar to my birth. I am not a result of the power of any mantra. But certainly, my birth story has par- allel shades. When my mother was pregnant with me in her womb, she was a maiden too. And because my mother was no princess, the king never bothered to know about her wishes. I was born because the king of a great land couldn’t control his desires. And Karna was born because a curious maiden prin- cess couldn’t suppress her fancies.
Mother Kunti continues sobbing, and in a hoarse voice, she speaks further, “After receiving the power from Rishi, I tried to control my inquisitiveness. But what can you expect from a
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curious teenager? I tried to pacify myself and taught my mind several times to keep calm about the power. But the mind rides on the tides of feelings, and the curiosity seeks answers. One day, when I couldn’t control the beseeching emotions, I went to the woods and sat under a tree silently. It was a dense forest, and the sunlight after crossing many filters was touching my senses. The power of Sun God came into my mind, and at the same time, I uttered the mantras. The blessings worked, and the Sun God appeared. In the serenity of that dense forest with cuckoo birds singing, unknowingly, I surrendered myself to the splendour of that lord. The mantras worked; the blessings were given. I was impregnated with the son of the Sun. But the fear of society seeking answers from an unmarried pregnant girl and the guilt of misuse of mantra overpowered my love for that infant. I was left with no choice than to leave the baby on the mercy of the floating river. I have been living with the same guilt for years, but today when you were performing rituals for your other brothers, it became imperative to me not to hide the truth anymore.”
The sobs continued, and the bewildered sons continued to look at their mother. Astound. Yudhishthira walks forward and bows down to his mother. He says, “O mother! Why did you hide this truth from us? Did Karna know that he was our brother?”
“Yes…”, replies mother Kunti.
His expressions become more bemusing. “Who else knew about this?” he asks.
“Grandsire Bhishma and my nephew Krishna”, answers the mother.
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“Krishna…”, Yudhishthira says while exhaling a deep breath and looking at the son of Devaki.
Krishna smiles and says, “I know what you want to ask, O elder brother. But I have no explanation for it. It was the secret of a woman and should be concealed in her heart. I have no authority to reveal the secrets.”
“How many more secrets are hidden in your heart, Krishna?” I ask.
Krishna looks at me as if he wants to say, “I know many of your secrets too”, but he looks at Yudhishthira and says, “Karna knew that he was a son of mother Kunti, but he still favoured Duryodhana. His love for his friend was greater than his brothers. His devotion to his friendship was more than brotherhood. He promised that he would not hurt any of you except Arjuna. Duryodhana befriended him because he feared for Arjuna and Karna lived to the expectations of his friend. But he forgot that if he was Duryodhana’s shield, I was present in the field as Arjuna’s guard. Life gives oppor- tunities to everyone; the way we make use of it creates the difference. Karna sided with Duryodhana because he believed his friend gave him what he missed, power. But he never understood that the glory of Arjuna was his glory too. He believed that his destiny always deceived him, but he never accepted that destiny is framed by one’s actions and decisions.” “This is the time to pay homage to the ones attained martyrdom. Extend your regards to the elders and walk back towards the city of Hastinapur. The throne is waiting for its new emperor”, concludes Krishna while we stand awestruck.
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YUDHISHTHIRA
ne month of penance is over, all rituals as a homage to t
he departed souls complete.
Yudhishthira with his four brothers is coming back to the city today. The entire kingdom is decorated with flowers and lamps. Fountains with divine fragrance are installed all across the city. The denizens of Hastinapur decorated their houses with buoyant colours. The pachyderms are deco- rated for the celebration. A large chariot with twenty-one steeds is designed, to ferry the new king from the city-en- trance to the palace. The entire path is decorated with dif- ferent colourful flowers, and the people throng to sneak a glance of their new king. As the sun goes crimson in the sky, amidst the sound of trumpets and conches, the entrance gate opens. The five brothers with Draupadi enter. The loud cheer of the denizens welcomes the sons of mother Kunti. “Hail our new King! Hail Yudhishthira! Hail Hastinapur”, are the slogans chanted by the blissful souls of the kingdom. The flowers are showered as the Pandavas move inside the city on the new chariot. They oblige the gratitude of elated citizens with their folded hands. Have they all forgotten the death and destruction in just a month? I’m not so sure! But the greatest glory is in rising after every fall. These ebul- lient citizens must be celebrating the rise of Pandavas, rise of righteousness.
Yuyutsu - Rise of the last Kaurava Page 19