Yuyutsu - Rise of the last Kaurava

by Aniket Sharma

  Yudhishthira looks at me and says, “The world sees, only what you want to show.”

  I look up, but he turns and walks away, leaving me bewil- dered. I still don’t understand why he shared his dichotomy with me. Why did he choose me over Bhima? Why had he com- pared me with Karna and himself? Why does he want me to stay not too close to the ministerial affairs? Why? Why?

  SWASTIKA

  ow long will you stare at the king?” I hear the soft known voice entering the room from behind.

  I turn around. A long golden-haired damsel stands in front of me. The confidence in her voice can make any king her slave.

  “O Swastika! What are you doing here?” I ask inquisitively. “Listening to the confused man. The war hasn’t taught you

  anything, O dear.”, She adds.

  I smile, “What do you mean?” “I mean, you always knew the truth of you changing the side before the war.”, she continues.

  “Don’t throw puzzles at me!”

  “Yuyutsu, I have known you since our childhood. You and I have seen many springs together. Your emotions have many impressions on my shadow, and each pore of my mortal-being knows your strength. Whom did you want to bewilder? You always knew what you wanted; then why all this act of renun- ciation”, she stares at me and speaks harshly. I know her. She doesn’t express without substance. Like me, Swastika too is the daughter of a waiting-maid of mother Gandhari. We both were born on the same day but blessed with different destinies. The only difference between her and I is that my father is a king,

  and her father was a charioteer. The strength which she talks about comes from the patriarchy; I belong. “Swastika, though I am the son of the king, my mother is not queen Gandhari. I learnt my life lessons with my brother Duryodhana, but never got the opportunity to stand with him”, I tell her.

  She comes closer to me, lifts my hand and presses it gently on hers. I can feel the warmth of her blood. She rests her head on my chest and says, “Yuyutsu, you deserve more. You are the son of a king; your intelligence, strength and valour need no signature. You belong to the throne of Hastinapur. The crown decked on the head of Yudhishthira should embellish your forehead.”

  I can feel the stubbornness in her voice. She had never spoken with this conviction before. Even the day, when I expressed my desire to be the heir of the throne, she was silent. “They belong to Indraprastha; you belong to Hastinapur. This great city needs you. Your progeny should own this golden throne. Your brothers are dead, but you are alive. The throne is waiting for you. The reign, regime, crown and the country, all are yours. Remember why you switched the side. And remember why you followed Yudhishthira.”, she continues.

  I smirk, lift her chin and press my hands on her shoul- ders. She shrinks. The rose-petaled lips with the kohl-lined perfectly, through her eyelids embellish her beauty. She is no less than the divine. She never was lesser. I feel the grown- round bosoms on my chest with the pants getting heavier as I move my face closer to hers. My lips peck the petals on her face, and that tender touch calms the exasperating voice. She melts in my arms. I still remember the day when our desires

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  first united. We were teens at that time, not too mature to think of the future life. I used to call her my queen, which she never liked, but she always stood by my side. Be it the time in our teens when Duryodhana wanted to poison Bhima in Pramankoti or when Duryodhana tried to burn the Pandavas in the house of wax, whenever I opposed Duryodhana, she stood by my decision. When the wiles of uncle Shakuni were igniting anger among the cousins, she stood by me to ensure I followed my wisdom.

  Her head rests on my chest, while the skin is under the sheets. The fire in the lamps is dim, but the fire inside us still burns strong, the fire of desire. She lifts her head, moves towards the side table, fills my silver tumbler with wine and says, “Yuyutsu! Don’t forget why you were born? The king was not sure about the birth of any of the Kauravas, and then he begot you. You are your father’s hope. You are your sire’s desire. You were begotten to grace this throne, and today your fate is giving you an opportunity. Remember, if not availed today; it will not knock tomorrow. It is your chance; do not ruin it. The throne is waiting for its rightful heir.” She unwraps herself from the sheet and walks to pick her robes. The reflection of her beauty pierces my eyes.

  “Your charm has not faded.”

  “Neither my intelligence!”, she mocks and starts walking away.

  “Wait! Where are you going? The conversation is not over yet.” I try to stop her.

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  “I know you need me. You will find me whenever in dilemma, but you will have to define your path.” She continues without looking back.

  I try to lift myself from the bed, but wine flowing in my blood and the fragrance of jasmine spread across the room don’t allow me to. I continue glancing at her. She knows me more than I know myself. I smile within. I am the progeny of Dhritarashtra. Only, I can continue his legacy. The king of Hastinapur has handed over the throne to Yudhishthira, but I can never be dethroned. I belong to this capital. It is my kingdom, my land, my mother. I changed sides not only to survive but lead, and I followed Yudhishthira to outlast. I will rise as the sole protector of this throne. The crown may not be mine, but the throne is mine. The crown needs a king, but the throne needs a protector. The battle on the ground is over, but my mind has become the new battlefield. The victor of Kurukshetra has got the crown, but what will the victor of the battle within getting? Who is the victor anyway? Do I know for sure? The night reaches its peak, but my racing thoughts don’t rest. Ambitions when sparkling in eyes, wakefulness kills sleep. Dreams, reflecting through the fearless thoughts, weave the stories of glory. I shut my eyes, but the endless thoughts of continuing the legacy of my father keep coming. Who wins against whom? The greed of Duryodhana met its destiny, but I will not let my aspirations perish. Duryodhana’s tomorrow is destroyed with the greed of today. Yudhishthira’s tomorrow is embellished with the patience of today. My tomorrow will be created with the greed of yesterday and patience of today.

  A man paves his path; success follows suit. There is no progress, achievement, and success, if the aspirations ride on bewildered thoughts. The journey of reaching the epitome

  ignites many battles, some within some outside. A paragon of virtue shines when the ego perishes. Yudhishthira will be the finest king Hastinapur ever had, and the world will admire him for centuries. What about me? The time for me has come to choose my path. The success will verily have to oblige me. If I become an ardent acolyte of the king, will it ensure my success? If I sing the glory of the Pandava brothers, will it ensure my triumph? I have many unanswered questions. The words of Swastika are still clear to me, “You will need me.” Yes, I will. The thoughts of Swastika and the dreams of magnificent tomorrow continue battling inside my head.

  Chapter5

  THE NEW BHISHMA

  The colours of wanting something are brighter than the shades of having it

  PARIKSHIT

  eeks have passed since the death of my brothers. My eyes are not moist anymore with the grief of my loss,

  but the melancholy in my heart isn’t even near the end. The day I decided to follow Yudhishthira, I rewrote my destiny and diverted Bhima’s fury towards my remaining brothers. But should I be petrified? I was never the target of Bhima. His friendship with me is not new. It was incepted, the day we were born. Together. Ironically, the day of birth of Duryodhana as well. Uncle Vidura had told that it was ghastly when Duryodhana was born. Complete darkness blanketed Hastinapur with howls and cries of carnivores. Bats were flying all around Hastinapur in broad daylight, and then the brightness of the day was consumed by the pitch darkness. The darkness of the night, or the darkness of humanity, I am not sure. Priests blamed the newborn and advised to kill him. Somewhere in a small chamber of the big palace, the infant me was wrapped, in the arms of my mother. The omens haunted my mother, and when she heard that the priests advised the killing of the infant, she
decided not to reveal my birth. Mother Gandhari’s determination saved the life of her infant, but another affrighted soul in a small room feared the fate of her baby in her arms, my mother’s arms. If the premonitions, would have targeted me, I would have been cut into pieces the same day. The fate of a prince was brighter than of a maid’s child, albeit the father was same!

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  “Where are you lost?”, a voice from behind breaks my chain of thoughts. “O Mother…”, I mutter with folded palms while getting up from my seat as she enters my room. “Yuyutsu! Son! Is there anything worrying you? Since the day, Yudhishthira became the lord of the crown, I am finding you in distress.”, she asks, observing my woebegone face. “Mother! Who won’t be satisfied with the luxuries of this grand palace? But the days of war are still haunting me. The memories of countless killings each day and the death of each of my brothers still pester me. What if I hadn’t switched sides, this thought still hounds me?”, I reply to the concern of my mother.

  Listening to my response, she remains silent for a moment, looks at me with affection, rubs my shoulder and says, “Son! You are a warrior, born in a Kshatriya clan. You are a synonym to an ever-ready combatant. Deaths on the battlefield can never hound you. Yuyutsu, tell me the truth.” Nothing is hidden, from a mother. She has read my face and reflected in my unfath- omable thoughts. “Mother! Am I not a good brother?” my lips waver. “And what makes you think so?”, she asks. “The death of Duryodhana has shattered my heart. Since his unprincipled end on the battlefield, I always question my decision. I always question, why did I choose to side with the Pandavas? Why didn’t I remain to protect the legacy of my father?” I share pen- itently. She looks at me, smiles and says, “Son, you shouldn’t regret your decision. Duryodhana’s end was inevitable. It was decided the day he pounced on humility. It doesn’t matter how he died; it was Bhima’s oath which shattered his thighs. You don’t have to feel guilty.”

  “But mother, I grew up listening to the stories of great Lakshmana, who sacrificed everything for his elder brother.”

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  “Your brother was not Rama.”, she tries to pacify me, “But life gave you an opportunity to become Rama. Follow his prin- ciples and serve your countrymen, selflessly.”

  “My father too is not King Dasharatha, O mother.”, my worry starts flowing in the form of words. “Rama honoured the promise of his father and walked into the woods for fourteen years. But king Dasharatha couldn’t live a single day without his son. It was his atonement to push his loving son to walk the path full of thorns. I am always ready to live up to the dreams of my father. But he will never consider me as an equal of Duryodhana. I am not pureblood.”

  “Yuyutsu, you are born in a lineage where sons have sac- rificed their lives for their fathers. Never forget! How great Puru sacrificed his youth for his father Yayati, and how grandsire Bhishma vowed for lifelong celibacy to ensure the marriage of his father with a fisherwoman, Satyavati. How terrifying it is, to see grandsire Bhishma still serving his oath! Even lying on the bed of arrows, he wants to see the throne in protected hands before leaving his mortals. Feel respected for your great ancestry.”, the mother tries again to address my confusion. “Remember great Bharata, whose descendants are guarding this throne for hundreds of years now. You are fortunate to be born in the lineage of the same great king. Remember, even Bharata’s father, Dushyant installed him on the throne only after assessing his skills and intelligence. I am fortunate that unlike Shakuntala, I didn’t have to prove my chastity in the courtroom. My union with your father was secret too, but he didn’t hide it to the world, once you were born. I know his love for Duryodhana is beyond everything, but that doesn’t restrict you to rise.”, she continues.

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  “Mother! I chose to follow Pandavas, and this act will always show me as a traitor.”

  “Why did you choose Yudhishthira over Duryodhana, is your secret. Maybe your conscience didn’t allow you to side with Adharma. Now, you have to pave your path, Yuyutsu. You are privileged that you exercised what you wanted. Millions die on this planet without even knowing the truth of their pres- ence; their dreams remain far from reality. It is not the time to reflect on the past and question your actions. The present isn’t only the result of the deeds of the past. Reflect on your reality and paint your future.”

  “May I enter, O Lord?”, asks the guard, breaking my discus- sion with mother. “Come in”, I say.

  “The lord of Dwarka, Krishna has arrived”, he conveys the message.

  “O…The time for Ashwamedha Yagna has come”, I remember. “Mother! Let’s go and greet Krishna.”, I tell mother after the

  messenger leaves.

  “Yes, you go and meet Krishna, I will check arrangements for his stay. But never forget the reasons for your presence. You are born to rise, remember the arrow goes farthest when released through tensed strings and targeted rightly.”, she walks out, and I feel pleased, maybe for the first time after the battle.

  I stand up from my seat and proceed towards the main court- room. The Pandava brothers are not in the city. They went to seek and collect the wealth needed for the yagna on the advice

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  of Rishi Vyasa. I enter the main hall. I greet Krishna with folded hands and a smiling face. Krishna smiles back while sitting on the royal seat given to him.

  “I have come as per the advice of eldest Pandava Yudhishthira.”, says Krishna.

  Subhadra also has come with him. “The time is suitable, O brother, Uttara must be about to enter into labour”, says the proud mother of mighty Abhimanyu. Krishna looks at his sister and smiles.

  “You must take some rest, O Krishna and loving Subhadra.”, remarks mother Gandhari. Agreeing to the mother; Subhadra proceeds towards the inner apartments of the palace. I then take Krishna to the guests’ apartment.

  The entire palace is routinely being decked with florals and sprinkled with fragrant water to ensure the comfort of Uttara. The servants and waiting maids of the queen are always in her service. The future of the Kuru dynasty is breathing in her womb. Mother Kunti has personally arranged the caretakers and physicians on the duty of Uttara. But more than the excite- ment for the newborn, everyone is affrighted remembering the cruelty of Ashwatthama. In his arrogance and anger, he tar- geted the Brahmashira towards the womb of Uttara. Everyone knows the impact the weapon might have had and hence are prepared, for any uncanny signs. Krishna must also be worried and therefore has reached Hastinapur before the return of Pandavas.

  “What is the destiny of the unborn! His fate was already attacked, but the mother’s hope is keeping him alive. The

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  impact of the powerful weapon would not have let him live, but the hope of the mother will not let him die. Gurudeva Vyasa’s mantras should have worked their wonders. And above all, Krishna promised that he would revive the unborn and now the time has arrived to live the promise.”, thoughts flash through my mind.

  Uttara is in labour today. The news is shared with everyone. The physicians and nurses are taking care of the would-be mother. Mother Kunti and Subhadra are waiting impatiently outside the room. I reach the place and wait outside the doors with mixed emotions. Krishna is already present. Minutes pass, and a maid comes out of Uttara’s chamber. Everyone glances at her with a hope of positive news; the news of the newly born future of this kingdom. “The boy is feeble. He is not breathing. Mother is healthy”, she breaks the news.

  Subhadra faints. Kunti turns pale. The earth beneath my feet sinks and my heartbeat skips. The weapon worked. The curse worked.

  “So, Ashwatthama finally wins?”.

  All eyes look at Krishna seeking hope. Gaining conscious- ness, supported by maids, a sobbing Subhadra says, “O Krishna! Did you hear that? The boy is feeble. He is not breathing…” And she wails inconsolably. The wail is similar to that of mother Gandhari on witnessing the death of her sons. “The future of this dynasty, the fate of Arjuna’s progeny, is in your hands. I have witnessed th
e death of my son. I will not let Uttara see the same fate. You promised that you would reverse the impact of

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  the weapon. That leech of man, Ashwatthama, desired the end of the Kuru dynasty. But don’t make this his win. We have seen enough of bloodshed and the death of millions of dear ones. But this baby, the son of my son, needs to live”, she continues.

  Krishna consoles his weeping sister Subhadra, and mother Kunti. He says, “With the power of truth and righteousness I lived on this planet, I will revive the baby. The infant will survive as I promised. It is not the time to get disheartened. It is heart-wrenching listening to the fate of the infant but let patience be with all of us.”