THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (77 page)

When Yudhishtira revives, in a low voice he says, “We have been vanquished in our victory.” He tells Nakula, “Go and fetch Draupadi.”

They ride to the camp and see the desolation Aswatthama has made of it: ashes everywhere and bloody corpses, their faces peaceless even in death, because they died so horribly. They see their sons lying side by side, some still on the charred remains of their beds, other having fallen off when Aswatthama killed them in their sleep. But the sight Yudhishtira can bear least is of Dhrishtadyumna, strangled, his swollen tongue protruding lewdly from his lips, his eyes staring in terror, his body and face covered in purple welts. This was how the splendid fire-prince had died at last, the kshatriya who had been their Senapati since the war began, without whom they could have never won the dharma yud-dha. Yudhishtira begins to sob. Satyaki and Bheema sit mutely beside their friend’s mangled corpse.

Arjuna walks around the horrific camp. When he sees the corpses of Uttamaujas and Yuddhamanyu, who rode at his chariot-wheels all these days, he breaks down. They hear the sound of a chariot driving up. Nakula has returned with Draupadi.

The Pandavas stand helpless, as Panchali is helped down from the chariot. She takes a few hesitant steps, then, sees her sons and collapses. When she regains her senses, hysteria has its way with her: her screams ring through the tragic morning. She beats her breast, tears her hair and cries out her sons’ names, her murdered brothers’ names. She screams at Yudhishtira, “Are you content now, that you have won the earth by sacrificing your sons?”

She falls across the body of each of her boys, kissing their faces, touching their wounds that smear her in dried blood, like sacramental kumkum and whimpering like a wild mother that has lost her young. Then, suddenly, she grows ominously quiet. Like a cobra uncoiling, she rises.

She says to Yudhishtira, “I will not eat again until Aswatthama is killed. I will die in this place.”

She sits down again and her husbands know she means to do exactly what she has said. Yudhish-tira tries to pacify her. “Your brothers and your sons died heroes and they have found swarga for themselves. How can you sit here in prayopavesha, Panchali? Aswatthama has escaped into the jungle, who can tell when we will find him?”

“I want revenge for my sons and my brothers, or I will die here.”

Yudhishtira cries, “Even if we do find Aswatthama and kill him, how will you believe we have?”

“He has a red jewel on his head, he was born with it. Bring me that stone and I will be content. Losing it will be worse than death for him.” Yet again, she turns to her husband she relies on whenever there is violence to be done, the one she can most easily persuade. She turns to Bheema and says, “Bheema, my love, you are the only one who will help me. You must do this for me!”

That is all it takes. Bheema swells up, his eyes turn red and he cries, “I will bring you the jewel. Nakula, come with me, be my sarathy.”

Bheema sets out to find Aswatthama. Yudhishtira sits near Draupadi. He puts his arms around her and does his best to comfort her. She sobs against his chest.

Krishna says, “Aswatthama has the brahmasirsa. He has left dharma behind him and he will stop at nothing any more. If he uses that astra, Bheema will not live. Drona once gave the brahmasirsa to Arjuna, but he did not trust Aswatthama with it: for it can make ashes of the earth in its four fires. But Aswatthama did not stop begging Drona and at last the father relented and gave his son the astra too.

I can never forget how Aswatthama flattered me once for a whole morning and I wondered where his flattery was leading. In a while, he asked me for the Sudarshana Chakra
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! Bheema doesn’t know Aswatthama has the brahmasirsa. Arjuna, come with me, we must go after him.”

They climb into Krishna’s Jaitra and set out. When they are out of the others’ sight, Krishna says to his sarathy, “Daruka, fly!”

The wonderful horses take to the air and rise above the trees. With unerring instinct, they fly straight to where Bheema has already found Aswatthama, who is with Vyasa and some other rishis on the banks of the Ganga.

FOUR
ASWATTHAMA’S JEWEL 

Meanwhile, Dhritarashtra is inconsolable. He is plunged in dark sorrow, crying without pause. Sanjaya says to him, “My lord, you mustn’t grieve like this. You know there is no one to console you any more.”

The blind king says, “I have nothing to live for any more.”

He slides down onto the floor and lies sobbing there. Vidura kneels beside his brother and tries to comfort him. “Your sons all died kshatriyas’ deaths, Dhritarashtra. You must not cry for those that have found heaven for themselves. Come, rouse yourself for the tasks that lie ahead.”

But Dhritarashtra has lost all his sons. Patiently, Vidura speaks to him, telling him about dharma, about life and death, that the soul never dies.

Hoping to provoke him out of his grief, Sanjaya says, “My lord, we told you long ago the course you chose would lead to doom. All that has happened is of your own making. A hundred kings have died for your son’s sake. You must come to Kurukshetra, to ensure their bodies are brought away and cremated. The last rites for them must be performed with honor.”

Finally, it is only when Vyasa arrives and adds his voice to the others’, that Dhritarashtra acquiesces, “Prepare my chariot, Sanjaya. Let Gandhari, Kunti and the other women of the palace ride with us.”

Soon, all the women gather on the palace steps. Their hair loose, crying, all of them clad in widows’ white and no gold or jewels adorning their bodies, these women whom not even the sun has seen now walk and ride through the streets of Hastinapura. Only Vidura remembers another day, thirteen years ago, when the Pandavas were exiled: Draupadi’s curse on the Kaurava wives has come to pass. The brahmanas of Hastinapura walk before the king’s chariot, chanting the Rudra hymns aloud, exactly as Dhaumya had done thirteen years ago. Vidura rides silently with the mourning procession.

Then, three wild-looking warriors in a chariot appear before the king and his train. It is Kripa, Aswatthama and Kritavarman, blood still on them from the night’s exploit. Kripa says, “My lord, your army is razed, we three are the only survivors.”

Kripa comes to Gandhari and says, “Your sons all died noble deaths, they have found Devaloka. Last night we attacked the Pandava camp to avenge Duryodhana and Aswatthama killed all the Pan-chalas and Draupadi’s sons. The Pandavas are out hunting us, we dare not stay in the open any longer.”

They ride away at once. Kunti falls as if someone had cut her down with a sword. Vidura tries to console her, but all her grandsons have been murdered. Kripa, Kritavarman and Aswatthama ride some way into the jungle and decide to part. They embrace one another, then Kripa rides home to Hastinapura, Kritavarman to Dwaraka and Aswatthama will seek refuge in Vyasa’s hermitage on the banks of the Ganga.

Bheema lets out a tiger’s roar, when he finds Aswatthama in Vyasa’s asrama, covered in dirt, smeared with ghee and wearing a piece of coth made of kusa grass. He leaps down from his chariot with his bow and quiver, crying, “Coward, I will kill you today!”

Aswatthama turns and Bheema gasps to see his face. Drona’s son has lost all his luster. His face is twisted and bestial, the face of a nishada who sells the flesh of animals: a butcher’s ghastly face! The expression in his eyes is so sinister, the look of a man who has lost his soul. Bheema stands stunned by the change in his childhood friend, the brahmana. Chest heaving, he stands ready to dispatch Aswat-thama.

Drona’s son draws a stalk of grass from the ground, as he rises to meet Bheema’s challenge with an evil smile. He chants a mantra over the green blade and fetches a cry from Vyasa and the other munis. The blade of grass bursts into flames. Aswatthama hisses, “May this world be without Pandavas!”

Bheema stands rooted, as the four-headed brahmasirsa rises in white fire from Aswatthama’s hands. Just then, the Jaitra flies down beside Bheema and Krishna and Arjuna leap down from it. The astra rages toward them, devouring everything in its path. Even before they came down, Krishna cried to Arjuna, “You have the brahmasirsa, too. Use it or we are lost!”

The moment the chariot lands and they leap from it, Arjuna raises the Gandiva and murmurs the same mantra Aswatthama did. From his bow, also, there flares an arrow charged with the flames of the missile formed like Brahma’s heads. The earth shudders as if it will crack in two. Fissures gape at their feet. Climbing steeply into the air, the two astras fly at each other and flames of a thousand hues lick the sky: to consume the very stuff of reality. Oceans begin to evaporate; mountains shake to their roots.

It is the very last instant before the astras collide. If they do, the earth will be ashes and the ashes blown across the fathomless vaults of space. In the final fraction of a moment, Vyasa jumps up with a shout and raises his hands above his head, “Stop!”

That moment, Narada appears there also, his body shining and he, too, raises his hands in mudras of power. By the tapasya shakti of the two rishis, the astras are arrested in the sky. They burn there still; but they do not collide, just hang fire.

Vyasa cries, “How could you invoke the brahmasirsa? Withdraw your astras before the earth is consumed!”

Arjuna says, “I summoned the astra only to save my brother. I will recall it.”

But to call back the brahmasirsa needs the will of a tapasvin. For some life-long moments, Arjuna stands in intense dhyana; slowly, the fires of his astra grow quiet. Sweat breaks out over his body and then the arrow that bore the ayudha flies back into the Pandava’s hands. It is a common wooden shaft now and cool to his touch. Aswatthama’s brahmasirsa still blazes in the sky.

Vyasa and Narada turn fiercely on Drona’s son, “Recall your astra, Aswatthama!”

Aswatthama shuts his eyes in dhyana, sweat breaks out on him, too. But Drona’s son has fallen from grace. He is a murderer now and he cannot recall the astra. The brahmasirsa remains where it is, burning up the sky. Now, Aswatthama realizes the enormity of his sin. With a cry, he falls at the munis’ feet. “I cannot call it back! I am a terrible sinner and the astra mocks me.”

There is panic in his voice. “What shall I do? I was afraid of Bheema and I summoned the astra, saying, ‘May this world be without Pandavas.’ My lords, I am helpless. Save me from the weapon’s wrath!”

Vyasa says, “If this astra is subdued with a brahmastra, there will be a drought in the world for twelve years. Not a drop of rain will fall and the oceans will dry up. Pluck the hatred out of your heart. Think kindly of the sons of Pandu and recall the astra.”

But his crime has ruined Aswatthama’s heart within him. He cannot raise a spark of mercy in it. Glowering, Vyasa says, “Give the Pandavas some recompense for what you did in the night. Give them the jewel your wear in your topknot.”

Aswatthama cries, “The jewel is my life! It protects me against weapons, disease, curses and hung
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.

Vyasa says grimly, “You have taken many lives. You must give up the jewel.”

The muni’s tone is irresistible. His hands shaking, Aswatthama gives up the magical gemstone. Then, he says, “I can’t recall the astra. At best, I can turn it away from the Pandavas themselves and ask it to consume their unborn children. But one day the world must be without any Pandavas.”

Vyasa and Narada nod. Aswatthama turns his weapon into the wombs of all the Pandavas’ wives and their sons’ wives. In a moment, Draupadi is barren and Subhadra and the astra flashes subtly into Uttaraa’s womb and burns Abhimanyu’s child nestling there. Then, the brahmasirsa subsides.

Now, Krishna says in a fearsome voice, “Of all the creatures born into the world, Aswatthama you are the most contemptible one. You have killed Abhimanyu’s child in Uttaraa’s womb, but I say to you, that child will live when it is born. I will give it life!”

The Avatara trembles with anger, “I curse you, Aswatthama. You will see that child born. You will see him crowned king and rule from the throne of the Pauravas. For sixty years of the kali yuga, Abhimanyu’s son will rule and you will live through his reign and still not die. Go wander the earth, friendless and alone, to expiate your sin! You shall stink of pus and blood, not have a single companion and no man will speak a kind word to you. Go now, I curse you to live thus for three thousand years!

Aswatthama howls like an animal shot with an arrow. He runs from that place as if demons are after him and he hears Vyasa saying, “Yes, Uttaraa’s son will rule the world and let him be called Parikshita, the tested one.”

Aswatthama plunges into the deep jungle and is lost. With the jewel of power they took from him, Arjuna, Bheema, Nakula and Krishna come back to the desolate camp at Kurukshetra. Draupadi is calmer now; but she rises with a moan, when she sees them return. A glowing Bheema gives her the scarlet stone and she takes it from him, crying out softly, knowing her sons and brothers had been avenged.

Bheema says, “Aswatthama was vanquished and Krishna cursed him to wander the earth until the kali yuga ends. He was our guru’s son, so we spared his life.”

Draupadi looks at Krishna and when he nods at her, she seems satisfied. She brings the scarlet gem to Yudhishtira and says, “Wear this from now, my lord. Only a great king should wear a stone like this one.”