“How to control evil?”
“Evils should be chastised. One shouldn’t refrain from lifting weapons against the evils and devilish desires. One mustn’t desist from, waging war against the evil.”
“What is the cause of war?”
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“War happens to install goodness over evilness. It doesn’t happen between the two conflicting groups only. It happens between two ideologies, and extreme opposite dogmas fol- lowed by rigid groups. When one starts curbing the presence of another; war becomes a certainty.”
“What caused the battle of Kurukshetra?” he continues. “The adamance, zeal of supremacy, lascivious desires,
being blind towards the actions, loyalty, attachment
towards the throne, keeping endearment of sons above all, disrespect, and inhumanity. Unnecessary vows, sacrifices, enforcement of orders, and misuse of speech. There was no single reason which led to the destruction of humanity. When the desires outgrew, and the lust of supremacy mul- tiplied, the humans started crushing each other. One should know how to keep balance and abstain from the causes leading to conflicts.”, I answer.
“If Pandavas were happy with five villages, why didn’t they leave them also and walk into the forest. It could have deviated the situation of conflict. You once told that Grandfather Yudhishthira was not keen to own kingship after winning the battle. Then why even he agreed for the war”, he continues probing me. I smile at him and his equally powerful keenness. The future of Hastinapur should not live with doubts. He shouldn’t feel that he sits on the throne held by the dead bodies of millions of war- riors. The blood flown on the ground eighteen years ago for eighteen days shouldn’t haunt him for the rest of life. He is the lineage of Bharata and son of valiant Abhimanyu. He shouldn’t live with his version of the truth but should know the absolute truth.
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“Parikshit! It was not about five villages. The five villages treaty was created, to give a final chance to instil peace. There wasn’t a single reason for battle. The humiliation and injustice faced by five brothers and their wife could never be compen- sated, with goods and wealth. The envy of Duryodhana and lust to pounce on everything which was not his. The commit- ment of grandsire Bhishma towards the throne of Hastinapur and not looking beyond it. The greed of Guru Drona to follow whatever the seigniory of throne speaks. Karna’s blind follow- ing and mother Gandhari’s blind attitude towards her sons. My father’s infatuation for his sons and not treating sons of Uncle Pandu as equal heirs of the kingdom. Multiple reasons, one igniting another, lead to conflict and friction. Duryodhana believed he was the right heir of the throne, but instead of proving his worth he always looked for the ways to defame and humiliate his cousins. When Krishna spoke about the peace treaty, Duryodhana ignored him. Everyone knew he was ethically incorrect, but nobody stopped him. When the armies were formed, few favoured Kauravas and few Pandavas. If Yudhishthira would have called off the battle, what would have happened to the aspirations of Pandava followers. Situations are stronger than willingness. When your vision becomes the vision of others, you have to look for others’ gratification as well. The war was certain. No matter if Pandavas would have let go of the five villages and retired to woods forever.”, I reply to pacify the curiosity of the grandson of Arjuna.
“Master… I bow down to you for answering my questions peacefully. This quest has not let me sleep for years. My mother Uttara has told the stories of valour of grandfather Arjuna and my father Abhimanyu. She told how single-handedly my father entered the deadliest formation during the war. But Aryaka, when the rules were defined why the weapon-less warrior was
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killed by the six warriors. Why the Dharma was not followed? Is Dharma written only for books and not to be followed in life? Why did Guru Drona allow to surround the weapon-less warrior?” He speaks with a heavy heart, and I see tears rolling down his cheeks. The question of Abhimanyu’s death has dis- torted him for years. While Abhimanyu was separated from his father at a tender age, this boy never got the opportunity to see his father. The misfortunes of father and father’s father ravaged the legacy. The innocence was mutilated, and immo- rality was harnessed.
My lips shiver when I try to speak. The death of Abhimanyu is the darkest truth of battle. The humanity stooped, and Dharma ignored. It haunts every living soul till now, I am sure. With great courage and heavy heart, I speak, “It was the thirteenth day of the war, when Guru Drona came up with a sinister plan. He formed the deadliest array any strategist could think of in the history of wars, Chakravyuh. Only Arjuna knew how to break it, but Guru Drona already made the plan to occupy him. Affrighted Yudhishthira could think of only one option, sixteen-year-young Abhimanyu, your father. He asked Abhimanyu to break the array and let other Pandavas enter. But Drona had planned for every possible breach. Jayadratha stopped the Pandavas to enter the broken array. Abhimanyu was all by himself, alone. He fought valiantly, defeating each warrior coming his way. He was no less than angry Rudra doing Tandav on the battle- field. Finding no answers to Abhimanyu’s fury, Guru Drona ordered six key warriors to surround Abhimanyu. Guru’s fear became stronger than Abhimanyu’s valour. Fear of defeat from a young boy. Fear of not being able to fulfil what Duryodhana, his prince, commanded. When fear outgrows humanity, wisdom loses the battle. Righteousness was
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defeated by the fear that day, and the six warriors became the cause of Abhimanyu’s death. Humans are a complicated species. It doesn’t work as per the philosophies of scrip- tures. It follows what benefits him. Be it a king or a beggar; all are slaves of fear, one or another. Death of Abhimanyu will continue questioning humanity and righteousness.”
Tears continue to roll down the cheeks of the brave boy sitting in front of me. I rub his shoulder to console him. The profoundness of scriptures is dwarfed, before innocent emo- tions, “Parikshit! You are the progeny of mighty Pandavas; the men with extraordinary capabilities. The world worships them as a symbol of power, strength, calmness, intellect, and elegance. You will represent the most prolific capital on this land. Control these sentiments and aspire for the betterment of people of this land. They had suffered a lot for many years. They were thrown, into the quagmire and slush which they never believed. They deserve better, and you are their only hope. Think beyond your emotions. The world waits for the shining future. Stand, rise and walk, the future is yours; you are the future.”
Parikshit stands and bows down before me. Nothing can fill the void of his father’s absence in his life. He says, “Aryaka! Your words always console my grieving heart. The learning of these years complemented with your teachings have shaped my understanding. The people out there will look up to me as the future of Hastinapur. For them, I am an avatar born with blessings. My grandsires must have many expectations from me. I, son of Abhimanyu, pledge today that I will never disappoint the people of Hastinapur. The throne will find its heir, but the heir will have to find the throne’s protector.”
He turns around and starts walking towards the exit. I look at him. The images of Arjuna and Abhimanyu flashes in front of my eyes as I see this future king walking. I smile within while trying to decipher his last comments, “The heir will have to find the throne’s protector”. I turn around, close my eyes, turn my head upwards. A feeling of contentment just rolls down through my cheeks in the form of a tiny drop. Somewhere I know, “A ruler doesn’t necessarily need a throne to rule.” I smile reflecting on my journey from being a boy whose presence made no difference to the most trusted man of Hastinapur. The journey full with more losses than gains. Eighteen-year-young Parikshit is the reflection of Arjuna, but I groomed him. My dreams shine in his eyes, and my thoughts will pave his rise. The strong arms of Parikshit are ready to hold the pennant of Hastinapur, and undoubtedly, the three worlds will herald his glory. But that symphony will sing songs of my honour too. I continue smiling, and the smile turns into harsh laughter while I dim the Mashaal.
I
hirty-six
years have passed since the battle of Kurukshetra. Time just flew in front of my eyes. My grey
hair and wrinkled skin are a testament that I am an old man now. Yudhishthira ruled the kingdom unopposed. No war, no conflicts, no rage, and no opposition. Hastinapur has seen the quintessence of growth along with Indraprastha. Whatever Indra could give to the denizens of heaven, Yudhishthira pro- vided to his acolytes. Hastinapur flourished like the abode of Indra. But not everything is golden as it seems. In all these years, if there were gains there were losses too. Both physical and psychological. Life doesn’t remain the same forever. When one needs someone direly, sometimes they go missing. Today, at this stage of life when I am in extreme need of a companion, Swastika is not with me. She died. She closed her eyes without seeing me as the ruler. I couldn’t fulfil her wish. The dream which she longed for her entire life remained unfulfilled. I still remember the day when she exhaled her last breath in my arms, leaving me behind alone. The flawless beauty shone till her soul departed. I not only lost a companion but also my love. I have seen the golden hair turning grey, the shining body turning pale, and the melodious voice turning hoarse. But her heart was always aligned to mine. Time teaches us that nothing is mortal; nothing is permanent. Humans crave for materials, but the soul departs with unclenched fists. We cannot take anything with us while leaving! She used to say that I would always need her. Those words still reverberate inside my ears.
Yes, I need her to share my emotions; the elements of joy, con- tentment, loss, fear, anger, love, and hatred. But life takes its turns, sometimes even without giving any signal.
I am not alone in this boat of losses. Pandavas have lost a lot too. Krishna, wielder of Sudarshan, couldn’t survive the curse of mother Gandhari. Vrishni clan became the cause of their destruction. The heroes whose ancestors fought valiantly in the battle of Kurukshetra couldn’t control the emotions of victory. Uncontrolled affluence becomes a cause of devastation, and Vrishnis also fell into that deception. Krishna, who taught numerous lessons to his friend and disciple Arjuna couldn’t teach any to his countrymen. When a soul becomes wicked and gets intoxicated with pride, all teachings sound senseless, and destruction becomes a certainty. Balarama couldn’t see the self-immolation of his men, and he walked into the ocean to his death. Krishna, on the other hand, sat quietly awaiting his end till a hunter came and unknowingly shot him. An era ended. The aeon has witnessed the life of universal supreme in his various forms: lover, friend, mentor, preacher, warrior, mystic and human. Arjuna was called by the acolytes of Krishna to perform the last rituals in Dwarka, city of Krishna. Yudhishthira sent him with the message of instilling peace among the remaining petrified denizens, and to bring them to Hastinapur, along with Krishna’s heir Vajra.
Arjuna is returning today from Dwarka. The messengers have shared the news of his return with prince Vajra. Yudhishthira is elated and orders the courtiers to arrange for the welcome ceremony of the young prince, heir of Krishna. Vajra is a young boy, but not ordinary. He is the son of Aniruddha, grandson
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of Pradyumna and great-grandson of Krishna, younger com- pared to Parikshit, but not in calibre. After all, he was born in the abode of Krishna. After many internal conflicts emerged in the city of Dwarka, Vajra is left with a handful of aged people and Vrishni women to support him. The rage which ruined Hastinapur thirty-six years ago has ruined the lives of people of Dwarka in almost similar ways. The friction among the people of the Vrishni clan increased beyond the control of Krishna. Once again, the message of peace didn’t work, and denizens fought for supremacy over each other. Mother Gandhari’s curse, or annihilation of intelligence, whatever one chooses to believe, but certainly, whenever a human becomes immoral, he invites destruction. Explosive temper sours the sweetness of life. Poise characters are ruined by lack of self-control. Ungoverned passion shatters the ambitions and arrogance blankets the rays of hopes. Knowledge riding on vanity starves the esteem.
Amidst the blare of conches and drumbeats, Arjuna enters the central courtroom with Vajra. The young boy has the charm of Vrishnis on his face, but the emotions of losing his dear ones are evident too. He walks behind Arjuna calmly and bows down before Yudhishthira and other Pandava broth- ers. He turns towards me with folded palms and extends his greetings. I raise my hand to bless the young lad. He truly has the fierceness of Balarama and serenity of Krishna on his face. Yudhishthira walks down from his throne, embraces Vajra, and rubs his shoulder, to console him. Vajra touches Yudhishthira’s feet and seeks his blessings. The king signals the boy to sit. Yudhishthira then walks towards Arjuna and hugs him. He understands the loss of Arjuna. Krishna was a friend, mentor, guide, teacher, preacher and brother-in-law of Arjuna. What Arjuna has lost, can’t be explained with mere
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words. Yudhishthira tries to pacify the grieving heart of Arjuna. Beholding the melancholy of his brother, the king allows Arjuna to go out of the courtroom. While Arjuna walks out, the thought of Subhadra flashes in my mind. She has lost her brother. The brother, who supported her vehemently for all his life. It was Krishna who arranged the marriage of Arjuna and Subhadra despite knowing the consequences of Balarama’s wrath and anger. It was Krishna who supervised the growth of her son, Abhimanyu for thirteen years. And it was Krishna who revived the progeny of Abhimanyu, Parikshit. Whenever Subhadra sought support, Krishna was never far. That caring brother, leader of Vrishni clan, the saviour of Yadava clan, tormentor of portents, learnt in Vedas, and disciple of sage Sandipani has now departed from this mortal world. The void is unfillable. Not only Arjuna, but all Pandavas owe him their lives. Even I’m indebted to him. A month of homage is declared. Yudhishthira has asked priests to perform prayers and rituals for the month. Arjuna expresses that he wants to go to the outskirts of the city to live in solace and pray for the departed soul. Vajra also follows him to remember his great grandfather.
“Krishna, the greatest mystic this world ever witnessed, has died the death of an ordinary man. The greatness of an indi- vidual is defined by the number of people who remember him after he leaves the world. Krishna is probably the only one in this aeon who will be remembered and worshipped for years to come all across this universe. The birth of Krishna was the epoch which gave rise to Dwapara. The time will be remem- bered by his name. Whenever people will memorize the battle of Kurukshetra, the memories of Krishna will soak them with several unanswered questions. Few will blame him also, for not stopping the carnage which happened throughout his era, but nobody will ever be able to comprehend the reasons and
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causes of his actions. His death will always teach the lessons of mortality to this world. The Vrishni clan will not be able to flourish ever again, the way it was in the regime of Krishna.”, the thoughts keep on storming my head as I close my eyes lying on my bed.
Days passed and the month too. Bereaved Arjuna returns to the palace post completion of rituals and prayers.
“Arjuna and Vajra are back in the city. Arjuna has a special announcement to make tomorrow morning. Your presence in the courtroom is important!”, reads the messenger from the scroll and waits for my answer.
I acknowledge the message and give my affirmation. As the messenger walks away, I pick the scroll and read the message again. “What announcement does Arjuna want to make sud- denly?”, I mumble.
I come out of the room to walk through the garden. The cool breeze and fragrance of evening flowers enter through each pour of my body. The stars twinkle and lord of night shine bright in the sky making the night sky extremely beautiful! A white sphere, far in the firmament seems to be playing with plenty of stars twinkling around it. The light from the glowing ball falls on the pond resembling thousands of pearls shining together. It’s a full moon night; a calm, serene, and breezy night. I have spent many such evenings with Swastika. Even today, when I walk on this grass, the dewdrops soothing my feet reminds me of Swastika. A girl with golden hair whose smile was like bright pearls shining together. A girl with rose
petal
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lips, round grown bosoms, coy eyes and slender waist whose presence was divine grace. She was the mirror of my dreams, and I cherish every moment of her presence. Her memories are the reason I am still alive. I remember the days when we used to walk together for hours. I can never forget the touch of those soft hands and sight of the deep navel lurking behind her loincloth. Each full moon night reminds me of that goddess of shimmering skin. I still feel the warmth of her heavy breath- ing and touch of her lips whenever a dewdrop falls on my lips. Albeit she is not around, but her memories still walk with me each evening. She was right. I always need her!
The bright sunlight filtering through the curtains fall on my face indicating the inception of yet another eventful day. I leave the pleasant memories of the night behind me on the bed. The crimson hue created by the golden ball makes the firmament divine. Seems, the Sun God riding on his chariot brightens every corner of this palace, helping the mortals to wake up. Lord wishes that the brightness of his effulgence eradicates the darkness, both external and internal. But unfortunately, the world wakes up only physically. Ignorance ensures that the mind sleeps with no thoughts of betterment. The chirping birds welcome the rising rays. The sound of bells of the temple and chanting of mantras mark the start of a new day. I step out of my bed and prepare for the meeting. My curiosity finds no end; as I walk towards the central meeting hall.
Yuyutsu - Rise of the last Kaurava Page 24