Ashwathama: The Death- Seeking Immortal

Transcription

1 A Ashwathama: The Death- Seeking Immortal Rajeev Balakrishnan P r o t e c t e d b y C o p y r i g h t E m a i l : r a j e e v b a l a g m a i l. c o m A historical fiction based upon the Mahabharata, this first-person narrative by Ashwathama, warrior par excellence and son of Guru Dronacharya, will change the way you look at the Pandavas and Kauravas forever, replacing conventional black-andwhite views of the epic characters with shades of grey

2 Author's Note Life throws up many moments you may be unprepared for. This novel that I am embarking on is one such. For ages the Mahabharata has been revisited and retold from the perspective of the victory of good over evil. It has generally been seen from the viewpoint of a central character such as Bheema, Arjuna or Draupadi. I, however, have been intrigued by a character from this epic best known for the reference to him on the 15th day of the battle of Kurukshetra. The statement 'Ashwathama is dead, the elephant not the man', was the turning point of the battle in many respects. When you look at the epic from Ashwathama's point of view an entirely new perspective emerges. The line dividing the good and the bad is almost obliterated. The halo around the good begins to dissipate, and the evil are no longer garbed only in wickedness. They were as human as you and me -- imperfect, and as real as they come. Ashwathama as Guru Drona's son could hold his own against the likes of Arjuna, Bheema or Karna. He was proficient in all forms of warfare and as learned in the scriptures as the sages. He could have excelled and been flawless, except for some minor chinks in his character. Fiercely competitive, he would settle for no less than the best. He was also a victim of one of the seven sins that turned his fate around. His wrath got the better of him and eventually led to his downfall. One thoughtless act often results in accumulated misery for the rest of our lives, much as it did for the protagonist of this book. The stark difference is that many of us can still earn a reprieve, but Ashwathama soldiers on as a deathseeking immortal. This tale emanates from a passion for the Mahabharata, and Ashwathama's story in particular. Forgive me if there are some minor factual mistakes. -- Rajeev Balakrishnan

3 Prologue At the outset, I have an admission to make. Mythology has always fascinated me, the Mahabharata in particular, as its tales of sacrifice, heroism and integrity capture the nuances of human character like no other. I have often lost myself in hours of pondering what it must have been like to live in such times: To be able to rub shoulders with Arjuna, Bheema, Karna and Duryodhana; to live at a time when Krishna, avatar of Lord Vishnu, had been a guiding force for mankind. It was an uneventful day when my attention was riveted by a news article on the Internet. Ashwathama, warrior par excellence, son of the Guru Dronacharya and a man of immense ability, had been sighted in an obscure village in Madhya Pradesh. While my mind dismissed this as the fanciful interpretation of an old Vaidya, my heart kept asking: 'What if it was true?' Spurred on by my heart, my mind eventually reconciled to the possibility of encountering Ashwathama, a Brahmin who had turned warrior by choice. Tossing and turning in bed that night, I tried to envision Ashwathama. Twelve feet tall, with a grim dark visage and broad shoulders, he would have been an awe-inspiring sight. I wondered if he would be willing to meet up with me or for that matter anyone at all, and if he did, would he be willing to unravel the great mystery that was plaguing me? Were the events in the Mahabharata real? Did Bheeshma and Drona exist? Who was the better exponent of archery -- Karna or Arjuna? Did Bheema actually have the strength of 10,000 elephants and did he really slay all the Kaurava brothers single-handed? Was Draupadi as beautiful as claimed in the ancient text? Could the Great War itself have been a figment of Vyasa s imagination? The questions surged in my mind, and after two months of this never-ending volley, I listened to my inner voice. I decided to undertake a journey into the annals of the past, where one man held the key to it all. Ashwathama. Tracking him down was the most arduous task I had ever undertaken, far tougher than all the presentations on improving sales and profitability for my erstwhile company. It took me all of six months to discover that the reports that had appeared in the newspapers on Ashwathama could well be true. They were not to be dismissed as a figment of some journalist's overwrought imagination. I checked and rechecked my sources many times over to see if there were some discrepancies between what I had read and what I was hearing. The sceptical mind was soon admitting the incredible possibility of an individual from that era still walking the earth. Egged on by the curiosity that had by now got the better of me, I went into every corner of the remote areas in and around Madhya Pradesh where Ashwathama had reportedly been sighted.

4 Village folklore was quickly turning into testimony: many said they had seen this individual, over 12 feet tall, with a gaping wound in his forehead and a putrefying odour that could put off any human being within a two-kilometre radius. He was known to have a fierce and angry look. My enthusiasm was suddenly replaced by unease and uncertainty. Would it be wise to track Ashwathama down? Would he take kindly to someone trying to discover his existence? Even if I did track him down, would I be left alive to tell the story? With no one to turn to for advice, I decided I would sleep over it. Fatigued by my travels through the villages over the last few months, I came upon the ruins of Asigarh fort near Buhranpur where I could rest for the night. After a quick bite from the food rations in my backpack, and after exploring the fort, I lay down outside a temple to Lord Shiva. Somewhere in the middle of the night I woke up to a fetid smell and the chanting of a mantra in a deep, sonorous voice. I spied an immense being reverentially offering flowers to the idol of Lord Shiva. He was certainly not of this world. I managed to crawl over to the door from where I could see him more clearly. There he was! I wanted to ask if he was indeed Ashwathama or someone else, but fear had softened my voice to a soundless whisper. Picking up the last vestiges of courage I asked him: "Ashwathama?... er... er Are you... Ashwathama? He turned and fixed me with a gaze that froze the blood in my heart. Ashwathama looked ominous as he demanded to know what I was doing there in the wee hours of the morning, the Brahma Muhurta that he had selected to worship his god. I blurted out as cohesively as my fear would allow my journey to unravel the mystery of the era that he belonged to. He replied in an almost dismissive manner: "What difference would it make? Those that matter have been gone for centuries while I bear the curse of immortality. Stunned, I said: Curse? Immortality, a curse? Immortality is what every human being aspires to and wants to discover. Ashwathama had a resigned look on his face as though I would never be able to understand the anguish within his tormented soul. I sat next to him in reverence, and with folded hands said: For thousands of centuries you have lived incognito, visible to none and displaced from all humanity even whilst living in our midst. Allow me to understand why you have lived such a life. No man could have suffered more than you and yet you seem so stoical in your acceptance. Perhaps in telling me your tale, your burden will become a tad lighter. I promise that this will remain strictly confidential. But please allow me an insight into your past. Ashwathama s features softened a bit: What you say may be true, it may lighten the humungous burden of guilt and ease the pain of my unseen wounds, but it can never offer any redemption to my cursed existence. Go, you may find other stories to amuse your playful intellect. Mine can never be an example for others to learn from: our time is past and man has changed and so have the times. In search of prosperity man has abandoned humanity, in the quest for fame he has ushered in deceit and other unspeakable sins that will hasten his destruction. The ruling class, though elected democratically,

5 persecutes its own people. What difference would my story make to a race that s hurtling towards destruction? I sensed a softening in Ashwathama s attitude. Calming my racing mind, I replied: With all due respect, our times are but a continuation of yours. We have conditioned ourselves to imbibe the avarice of a Duryodhana, the envy of a Karna, the boorishness of a Dushasana and even the cunning of Shakuni, while forgetting the dharma practised by Yudhishtra, the bravery of Bheema, the sagaciousness of Krishna and the chivalry of Arjuna. Enough! Not a word more! Stop right there! bellowed Ashwathama. I flinched, thinking that he would strike me down with his mighty forearms. But looking hurt Ashwathama continued: You live in an age where perception is reality and hence see the Pandavas as the epitome of all things virtuous, and the Kauravas, of whom I was part, as disgraceful. How foolish and mistaken you are. Nothing could be farther from the truth. He pondered for a moment and then continued: You have stoked the righteous anger in me and I will tell you the truth so that you can make an informed choice between a lie conditioned by hearsay and the truth as I tell it to you. But I will tell you all of this on one condition: the story needs to be told to the whole world and in the manner I tell it. We have been judged and we have been found wanting and painted by history and folklore as evil men. But all of us were good and bad in equal measure. Neither were the Pandavas and their benefactor Krishna paragons of virtue nor were the Kauravas the only ones who were devious. We were all a mixture of oil and water, not destined to blend, as imperfect as they come. Ashwathama had a faraway look in his eyes. He recounted a tale that has been told a million times over. But this time around it was the real story. The good, the bad and the ugly, all in equal measure. Each of the characters not just black or white, but in shades of grey, like you and me. When he spoke, I dared not interrupt; I simply listened, before writing it all down.

6 And then Ashwathama said:

7 Chapter 1: Ashwathama is dead December 9, 3067 BCE: The frenzied cawing and clawing of a flock of crows attacking a night owl caught my attention. The owl, blind by daylight, was at a distinct disadvantage. This clamour was in sharp contrast to the silence after the conflict. The blowing of conches, trumpets and war drums, the weapons clashing against one another were now replaced with a silence punctuated only by the groans of dying soldiers. The battlefield of Kurukshetra spread over 50 kosas (150 km) had witnessed the annihilation of millions of men in a span of just 18 days. It was simply unbelievable how the Pandavas had managed to outmanoeuvre us. We had 11 Kaurava Akshauhinis (divisions) to their seven. An Akshauhini was a battle formation that consisted of 21,870 chariots (ratha), 21,870 elephants, 65,610 cavalry men and a 109,350-strong infantry brigade. Led by stalwarts such as the grand sire Bheeshma and my father the incomparable Dronacharya, we should have prevailed. It was well-known that just these two warriors could stand against a multitude of men and arms and still emerge victors. Both were peerless in combat and had a complete knowledge of divine arms and weapons. One who could best them in fair combat was still to be born on this earth. Victory for the Kauravas was a foregone conclusion and yet the Pandavas forced defeat upon us. Guided strategically by Krishna, their scheming cousin, they emerged victorious. Even though Krishna did not pick up a single weapon and played the role of a mere charioteer, he managed to inflict maximum damage and rout our 11 divisions in 18 days. All our generals dispatched to heaven through connivance and strategy. If this was not a travesty of justice, what was? Exactly three days before the battle ended, when my father wielding the Brahmadanda, a celestial weapon was wreaking havoc among the Pandava ranks, his death was engineered by Krishna, by unfair means. Witnessing the carnage Drona was inflicting, Krishna remarked to Yudhishtra: If we do not kill this Brahmin who is wielding his weapons like the god of death himself, we may lose our entire army. You need to kill him immediately. Yudhishtra was perplexed and asked: Er... And how exactly do you propose we do that? Krishna pondered for a minute and said: The only way we can overcome him is if he lays his weapons down willingly. His life revolves around his son Ashwathama, whom he loves more dearly than himself.

8 All you need do is utter a small lie that Ashwathama is dead. Knowing that you would never lie, and resigned to his fate, he will immediately throw down his weapons. Yudhishtra who had till then never breached the tenets of dharma was shocked at this suggestion, and vehemently refused to accede to Krishna s suggestion. Bheema, who was listening to this conversation, stepped in and said: You will not have to lie, for I will kill Ashwathama. Yudhishtra retorted: Ashwathama is proficient in all forms of warfare. You do not have the skill to defeat, leave alone kill him. With a twinkle in his eye Bheema replied: Of course I cannot defeat or kill our guru s son since he is a consummate warrior. There is an elephant named Ashwathama in the Kaurava ranks, which I can kill with a single blow of my mace. I will then loudly proclaim that I have killed Ashwathama. All you have to do is affirm my claim. Bheema set out to accomplish this. On hearing him gloat that he had indeed killed me, my father was aghast. To confirm the veracity of the statement, my father turned in consternation to Yudhishtra. He knew that true to his synonym Dharmaputra would never lie. Yudhishtra hesitated for a second, knowing that the truth would mean certain defeat, while a lie would compromise his ideals. He chose the middle path and uttered half the truth: Yes, Ashwathama is dead. I am not sure if it is the elephant or the man. The second sentence was spoken so softly that it was never heard by my father. The words were drowned in a loud blast from Krishna's Panchajanya conch. Compromised by the half-truth my father and guru to us all lay down his weapons, and went into a yogic trance, willing his life to leave his body. Seizing the moment, Dhrishtadyumna, Draupadi s brother and the Pandavas' commander-in-chief, leapt onto my father s chariot. He lopped off my father s head and threw it among the Pandava troops as though he had achieved his life s mission. To think that this ungrateful man had been instructed in the art of warfare by my father compounded my misery. He was a teacher who knowing very well that Dhrishtadyumna was his friend-turned-foe's son still imparted the knowledge of weapons to him. It was ordained that he should teach any Kshatriya who sought knowledge from him. But Dhrishtadyumna who had lost all reason seeing his own father Dhrupad perish to my father s arrows earlier, decided he would have his vengeance, no matter what the cost. Gathering my thoughts, I looked up to see the owl helpless and overcome by the sheer number of crows that were pecking at it furiously. This was exactly how the Pandavas had overcome the noble-minded Duryodhana who was repeatedly heckled with verbal insults till he was forced to come up and defend his honour. I was seething at the inhuman manner in which Duryodhana, scion of the Kaurava family, was literally taunted out of the Dwaipayana Lake. He had taken shelter there to soothe the agony of seeing all his kith and kin killed by deceitful means.

9 Yudhishtra called out to him and asked him to come out and fight as a hero would. Resigned, Duryodhana conceded defeat. He asked them to go ahead and rule Hastinapur since he had no desire to fight after having lost all his friends and family. Yudhishtra persisted acerbically saying: It is too late to pretend to be charitable when Hastinapur is no more yours to gift. Stop hiding like a coward and come out and meet your fate like a Kshatriya. Or have you become so debased that you want to continue to exist after having caused death and misery to all? I will make you a onetime offer. You can choose to fight any one of us in single combat with a weapon of your choice, and if you prevail we will forfeit our claim to the kingdom that you so strongly desire, and never come back. Krishna who was at the scene immediately admonished Yudhishtra saying: You know that Duryodhana is peerless in combat when it comes to fighting with a mace, even Bheema, the strongest among you, may not be able match him. If he chooses to take up the challenge and battle either you or Nakula or Sahadeva, the contest is likely to end in only one result -- his victory. The Pandavas were taking no chances, they wanted him dead. Seeing their persistence I knew they would not give up till the threat was quelled. Along with Kripacharya and Kritavarman, I called out to Duryodhana and asked him to come out and fight. Even as Duryodhana, weary in mind and body, emerged from Dwaipayana Lake, Krishna taunted him: We know that you will choose the mace as a weapon and take up Yudhishtra s offer and choose Nakula, Sahadeva, Arjuna or Yudhishtra who do not wield the mace as effectively as you, just so you can win. Stung by Krishna s sarcasm, Duryodhana replied: Unlike you I have not stooped to win. I have fought this war according to the dictates of dharma. I will not lower my standards to fight with someone lesser than me in ability. I do not see anyone here who can match me, neither you Krishna, nor Bheema. But if I have to choose someone to fight, it would be Bheema, my sworn enemy. He needs to pay for the barbaric manner in which he killed my brother Dushasana and drank his blood like a demented beast. Predictably, Bheema in spite of his immense physical strength was no match for the lightning quick moves and mace-wielding ability of Duryodhana. Blow after blow from a relentless Duryodhana was tiring Bheema out. Just when it looked as if this encounter would end in favour of the Kauravas, Krishna called out to Bheema and signalled to him by clapping his hand on his thigh. Krishna was reminding Bheema of his vow to break Duryodhana's thigh in the battle at Kurukshetra for having slighted Draupadi earlier. To our horror, even with Krishna s elder brother Balarama as the adjudicator of the fight, Bheema did the unthinkable. Jumping high into the air to gain momentum, he brought the iron mace down with a deafening thud on Duryodhana's thigh, shattering it with a mighty blow. It was against all tenets of mace-fighting. No wielder of the mace was allowed to strike his opponent below the waist and yet Bheema had stooped to this. A furious Balarama, teacher of the craft of macefighting to both the combatants, picked up his Halayudha weapon to confront Bheema.

10 Krishna intervened and convinced him that Bheema had sworn an oath, and must make good his pledge, even if it seemed unfair. A disgusted Balarama left the battlefield shaking his head in dismay. He had witnessed unfair combat that left his favourite pupil Duryodhana mortally wounded. Bheema was delirious at having won against a tougher and more skilled opponent. He lost his sense of equanimity and placed a heavy foot on Duryodhana's head, roaring in delight. Yudhishtra was quick to admonish Bheema and said: "Remove your foot this instant, Bheema. Do not forget he is older to you and equal to an elder brother. Duryodhana was quick with his sardonic repartee: "It does not matter who stamps on my head now. In a few hours even the crows will be prancing around on my head. I have no interest in becoming a king now. I have lost all interest in this illusionary world. Slain in unfair battle, I shall still spend my afterlife in heaven in the company of my friends, relatives and well-wishers while you will live on in misery at having seen your dear ones killed. You defeated us only by cheating and treachery, otherwise the likes of Bheeshma, Drona and Karna were simply unconquerable. Your victory is a shallow one and your names will forever bear the stain of ignominy. I on the other hand have always been a good son, loyal friend, caring brother, and powerful enemy. I am happy to have died fighting and have the deepest gratitude for those who laid down their lives for me; I will die with no regrets." His spirit remained unbroken and indomitable. I was outraged. This was not how we were instructed to fight by my father. First my venerable father, and now my dear friend Duryodhana had become victims of the Pandavas' treachery. Something had to be done to right this injustice. But what? And how? To avenge them would surely set my mind at peace. The sun had set whilst I was ruminating and fretting about our destiny. Suddenly I heard a terror stricken cawing of the crows. I looked up. The owl that was earlier at the receiving end was now attacking the crows. The tables had turned: blinded at night, the crows were now at the owl s mercy. A thought flashed into my mind. The enemy camp would be relaxing, getting drunk and enjoying their moment of glory. Right now they would be like the blind crows to an owl like me focused on his mission. I quickly went up to the remaining two survivors from our camp, Kripacharya and Kritavarman and asked them to follow me as we set out to find the injured Duryodhana. I found Duryodhana on the ground exactly where he had fallen after his battle with Bheema, wincing in agony. I called to him gently: Suyodhana, I share your agony and pain. Knowing that we were overcome by deceit and not through fair means has compounded your misery as well as my grief. I swear on my dead father s spirit, I will avenge these acts of adharma this very night. The war is not yet over. It will not be until the Pandavas have been killed and annihilated. It will not be over while my father s murderer the cowardly Dhrishtadyumna and Bheeshma Pitamah s killer Sikhandin still live. Tonight I will redeem our self-respect. Do not allow your soul to leave your body till I come back and convey the good tidings to you. I revealed my plan to Kripacharya and Kritavarman. They were initially hesitant, but were finally convinced. There was no other way to avenge our defeat, especially since we were the last three from

11 the Kaurava camp still standing. Duryodhana asked for some water with which he anointed me commander of our forces. Gathering our weapons and horses we set out towards the Pandava camp in the stillness of the night. Just as I had expected, the Pandava camp was celebrating. I asked my co-conspirators to lie low till the celebrations were done and they were in a drunken stupor. We watched as the silhouettes we saw through the tent slowly but surely tiring themselves out and their speech getting increasingly slurred. Eventually, the lights dimmed and we moved in for the kill. Kripacharya and Kritavarman were to stand guard at the exit to hack down anyone who tried to escape, while I would go in and kill the five Pandava brothers and their brothers-in-law. I would tell them I was Ashwathama -- the man, not the elephant, just so they knew. I proceeded silently and with resolve, but was caught unawares at the entrance to the camp.

12 Chapter 2: A promise redeemed As I moved in for the kill, a huge apparition blocked my way. I ordered the grotesque figure to step aside and let me pass but the stubborn giant refused to listen. I attacked it with all the possible Astras. But all the weapons and missiles that had helped me prevail versus tough opponents in the past seemed powerless against this creature. Every weapon directed at it was either swallowed or fell harmlessly by the wayside. Having exhausted my quiver of arrows I asked: Who are you? Surely you are not a man or an asura, otherwise you would have been obliterated by now. In return, the being laughed and continued to block my way. Enraged but helpless, I entreated him: I am here to wreak vengeance on those who have killed my father, my friends and my soldiers in an unfair manner, so please step aside and let me complete what I had set out to do. The monster just stood there. Frustrated, I looked for a suitable spot to propitiate Lord Shiva, the destroyer. Impatient and frustrated with the lord s reluctance to appear before me, I decided that if I could not fulfil my vow, I would rather end my life. I took a step forward into the sacrificial fire, offering my life and body to him. In a flash he was in front of me. Having tested me enough, Lord Shiva appeared and said: The creature guarding the entry to the camp is Mahakal Rudra, another of my forms. Krishna asked me to stay here and ensure the safety of the inhabitants. I was merely acceding to his request. I was stunned at the strategic foresight of my adversary Krishna, and how he had seen the future with such clarity. Bowing my head in reverence to Lord Shiva, I requested his blessings in helping me achieve my objective of killing the Pandavas. Lord Shiva smiled and replied: You have pleased me with your piety and resolve. Also your reason for vengeance is justified. Time is up for the inhabitants of the tent. My form that is guarding the camp will blend into your being, empowering you further: you will achieve your heart s desire. Before leaving he handed me two shining swords. The giant vanished and in a second I felt a smouldering rage creeping into my entire being. Exhilarated, I rushed into the camp, hacking at everything and everybody in sight. I found those low scum of the earth, Sikhandin and Dhrishtadyumna, sleeping unaware of their impending death in one of the richly brocaded tents befitting their royalty.

13 I kicked Dhrishtadyumna in the chest and crushed him under my feet like vermin. He squirmed in pain, weakly trying to stand up. I pushed him down with my feet and kicked him till he was unconscious. I punched him till his face was an unrecognisable pulp of flesh. Drawing my sword I beheaded him. I felt unbridled joy at what I had just achieved. I moved into the next enclosure where Sikhandin, the eunuch who had caused Bheeshma s death, was sleeping in a drunken stupor. By the time I was finished with him I was quite sure he would not belong to any gender even in a future birth. Guided by my hunting instincts I moved from tent to tent, searching for the five brothers. They had been the bane of the Kaurava existence. I spotted a set of five tents at a distance in a darker corner of the camp. I crept in stealthily, aware that if any of them awoke I would be hard-pressed to defend myself against them. To my relief all of them were lost to the world and snoring quite audibly. It was pitch dark. It took a few minutes to get accustomed to the darkness and see which side their heads lay. With grim humour I mused that even if I could not see them clearly; their snoring would guide me accurately enough. I stepped in and quickly executed each of them with a precision that surprised even me. I could not make out their features in the darkness, but surely the one with the towering frame was Bheema. How happy Duryodhana would be to see the decapitated head of his sworn enemy. The deed done, I rushed out and found Kripacharya and Kritavarman making short work of the soldiers who were trying to escape. To ensure that there were no survivors whatsoever, we decided to torch the entire camp. As the flames engulfed it I sighed in satisfaction, playing over in my mind the scenes of the destruction I had just inflicted. A job well done. On our way back Kripacharya berated me for killing defenceless, sleeping people. He kept saying perhaps I should have consulted the elders such as Dhritarashtra and Vidura to know if what I was going to undertake was acceptable. I was amused by his short-sightedness. Had he not seen a defenceless Karna being killed by Arjuna? And how the grand sire Bheeshma was felled by foul means? I was beyond caring. I gestured to him to stop the moralising. I did what had to be done to right a wrong even if my methods were not in accordance with the dharma of warfare. The war was over in any case. The Pandavas and Krishna had used deceit and treachery to emerge as victors, not knowing that their victory would be short-lived. It was just a few hours since Bheema had gloated after felling Duryodhana, and now his head was in my bag as a souvenir for my friend. I was sure Duryodhana would be elated that I had achieved what he so dearly desired. Bheema dead. The tormentors of the Kuru clan obliterated. It was a heady feeling. Fate is fickle: she can cling to one

14 suitor, and just when he is feeling complacent about his good fortune, she can abandon him, like a jealous mistress leading him to his destruction. Dawn was yet to break and relieve the horrors of the night as we rode closer to the spot where Duryodhana lay wounded. I dismounted and ran to him with Bheema s head, hoping to ensure a moment of happiness in my friend s heart before he died. Here Duryodhana, look upon the head of your sworn enemy Bheema! I proclaimed, not concealing my pride. Duryodhana lifted his hands and received the decapitated head to crush it with his remaining strength, so great was his hatred for the second son of Pandu. Suddenly he stopped, took a closer look at the head and groaned: It is not Bheema. What cruel joke have you played on me, Ashwathama? Why did you deceive me? For a moment my heart leapt in joy, thinking you had achieved the impossible. This is not Bheema but his son Sutasoma, born to Draupadi, who bears a strong likeness to him. I was shocked. How was that even possible? I had seen the five brothers sleeping in the Pandava camp. What you are saying is next to impossible, Suyodhana. I killed all the five brothers. Take a closer look, it is Bheema. Are your eyes deceiving you in your final moments? Duryodhana lamented: My enmity with Bheema is well known and the hatred we bear each other so intense that we had sworn not to look at each other even in death. And yet this boy stares back at me balefully. Oh Ashwathama, you fool, you have not killed the Pandavas but obliterated the very future of our clan. Eventually the Pandavas will die, but who will take our generation forward? All my sons and brothers and their sons have died on this accursed battlefield and now you have ensured that even from their side there will be no progeny. What have you done? But why should I castigate you? Instead I am to be blamed for having sent you on this mission. With that last sentence, he turned away. I was surprised to see that the man who had nothing but venom in his heart for his five cousins now had tears of remorse contemplating the future of the Kuru clan. Listening to Duryodhana, I had mixed emotions; I had not managed to kill the Pandavas as promised but their five sons. It was a failure, I had to admit. But perhaps it was not such a bad thing after all, for in this unknowing act I had ensured that even though they lived, there was no greater grief for the Pandavas to bear. Draupadi, the instigator of hatred within the Pandavas for their cousins, would be no more than a walking corpse. She had lost all her five sons and her dearest brothers in a matter of minutes. Yudhishtra would be heartbroken that his son Shrutavindhya was dead, while Nakula and Sahadeva would find it hard to get over the demise of Satanika and Srutakarma. Having already lost Abhimanyu and Iravan during the course of this war, Arjuna would be dealt a mortal blow when he learnt that the youngest Srutakirti, who had the temerity to challenge me during the war, was now in another realm. Perhaps being a brahmachari, as I was, had its advantages.

15 Karma had played out its quirky part. The Pandavas had used trickery to orphan a son who doted on his father; they had killed their own teacher. Now they stood orphaned by the loss of their children. It was a fitting retribution. I could see foreboding in the eyes of my co-conspirators, Kripacharya and Kritavarman. They looked as though they had seen a ghost. What would happen when the Pandavas discovered the savage hunt that we had perpetrated at the Panchala camp? Kripacharya said: I was the first teacher to the Pandavas, even before your father arrived to instruct them. I know they will be heartbroken. But rest assured, they will hunt us all down. I am not afraid to die, but I am doing a disservice to the great sages such as Gautama and Shardhwan in my lineage. As long as mankind exists I will be seen as your co-conspirator in this mindless injustice. He paused and added: I have seen the vindictive and cruel nature of Duryodhana and his brothers. But now I realise that evil only begets evil and in the company of the unscrupulous Duryodhana and Dushasana, you my nephew have also compromised your good nature. Born to such an illustrious father, son of saint Bhardwaja, you have traded your intellect, dharma and spirituality -- and for what? You have only succeeded in antagonising Draupadi who, born of fire and hence known as Yajnaseni, will not rest till she has destroyed you. Bheema and Arjuna, who have wiped out entire divisions of the Kaurava army without raising a sweat, will seal that destruction. How I wish you had not undertaken this foolish endeavour to please Duryodhana who was the very cause of this war. The old man who was my mother s brother was trying to give me a perspective that I had not really considered earlier. But being skilled warriors I thought they were unlikely to bemoan their fate and stay heartbroken for too long. I had personally witnessed Arjuna's fury on the 14th day of the war when he along with Bheema and Satyaki destroyed seven divisions of ours in avenging Abhimanyu s death. There were few to match him when he was in his element, as my father had told me. He doted on him as though he was another son and that was something I could never digest. I would ask him, who is better, Arjuna or I, and he would silently smile as though the answer was only his to know. Time was running out and it would be dawn soon. I took charge of the situation and said: There is no point in lamenting and beating your chest about what has happened. I did not intend to kill the Upapandavas but their fathers and you both know that. What happened was an accident though I understand that is not a reason the Pandavas will be willing to accept. If we stay together, chances are our cover will be broken in no time. If I meet them first I will take complete responsibility for what happened and absolve you of any part in the massacre at the Panchala camp. However if you happen to meet them first I leave it to you as to how you want to deal with them. I suggest that you lay the blame squarely on me. These shoulders are big enough to carry that burden. I do not think we will meet again in the near future, so before you go I bow down in all humility and beg your forgiveness if any word or action of mine has caused hurt to you intentionally or otherwise.

16 I went across to bid a final goodbye to my childhood friend Duryodhana whose nobility and disregard for caste had secured a permanent place in my heart. But he had already crossed over to the other side. Alone and with a creeping sense of unease I wondered who would shelter me from the wrath of the Pandavas. The choices were few and after evaluating them I zeroed in on Sage Vyasa's ashram. If they found me with their ancestor they may rein in their fury, and I could tone down mine as well. If it came to a confrontation I would not hesitate or hold back. I rode hard and reached the precincts of his hermitage and found him in deep meditation. The serenity in his face comforted me. I sat in a corner wanting to meditate and escape from the reality that would soon confront me. Instead I found my mind slipping back to how it all began. I was a child once again and this time around I wanted to experience how it had all played out for me.