AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) (57 page)

Suyodhana paused, willing the darkness that threatened to overcome him to hold its curtain for a few more moments. “I made one grave mistake, but I do not repent it. If this is punishment for that mistake, I shudder to think what punishments lie in store for the Pandavas and you, Krishna. I have only one regret, that my pious parents will have no sons to perform their last rites. I go to where Karna has gone before me. If your
Gita
is true, Krishna, then I have lived and will die according to the Kshatriya
dharma.
The heaven rishis speak of, for men who die doing their duty, will be mine. I have had a good life for I feared no God or
avatar,
but lived as my heart told me to. No priests dictated what was right and wrong to me. I lived like a man and will die as one. My thighs were broken by foul play but I still hold my head high. I am blessed. Time will tell who was right and who was wrong. You will remember my words, Krishna, when death stares you in the face one day. The laws of
karma
are beyond even your control. Now, go and leave me to die in peace. I do not wish your faces to be the last thing I see on this beautiful earth. Leave me alone to ascend to the abode of Mahadeva.”

Krishna’s eyes looked away from the dying Kuru Prince. Suyodhana’s words remained coiled in the recesses of his mind, ready to strike on the day he would be lying with an arrow embedded in his leg. He turned to his friends and said, “It is over.
Dharma
has won.”

Like a song halted midway, the rain stopped and the heavens were silent once again. In the woods, a Brahmin buried his face in his arms and vowed silently, ‘It is not over. It is never over.’

*****

75
   
T
HE
O
WL’S
R
EVENGE

THE VICTORIOUS PANDAVA ARMY
rushed to the Kaurava camp, looting and burning everything in sight. Yudhishtra felt dazed, like a man who had drunk too much
soma.
He waited for the exhilaration of victory to sweep over him, but all he felt was a dreadful emptiness that crushed his ribs and choked his breath. The earth lay desecrated with blood and mangled flesh. Vultures circled high above before landing on carrion. Dogs fought each other for the bones of warriors, while ravens cawed, announcing their feast of
dharma.

Krishna pulled at the reins, stopping his chariot near Yudhishtra’s lonely figure.

“Why do I feel no elation, Krishna? No joy?”

“You are merely exhausted, King of Hastinapura,” Krishna replied.

“How will I face my uncle and aunt? Suyodhana’s words haunt me. We did not spare a single son of Dhritarashtra.”

“No, we spared the noblest of them all. Have you forgotten Yuyutsu, who sided with us, with his fabulous warriors, when we needed him? Do not indulge in morbid thoughts. You have won and the people will soon forget the rest. What we did was for
dharma
and the fact that we won proves
dharma
was indeed with us.”

“My mind is troubled, Vasudeva. Go to my Uncle Dhritarashtra and Aunt Gandhari and prepare them for the terrible news of their sons’ deaths.”

“If you wish it so. I will convince them their sons deserved to die.”

“Krishna, I have always trusted you. Respect their grief.”

Krishna smiled. “Rejoice in your victory, Yudhishtra, for Bharatavarsha has a new Emperor who will respect the scriptures and follow
dharma.”

***

Dhaumya arrived to announce that the riches of Suyodhana’s camp had been secured. By law, whatever the vanquished enemy had owned belonged to the victor. Arjuna hesitated, his mind filled with a stange unease that he could not quell.

“It is as the good priest says, Partha. Enjoy what you have earned with your prowess and skill. Now get down from the chariot, your brother has given me an errand to perform,” said Krishna.

Arjuna sighed and descended from the chariot that had carried him through eighteen days of warfare. Bhima arrived, pulling Draupadi with him. Nakula and Sahadeva followed behind.

“All Suyodhana’s wealth is now mine. How sweet victory is!” Draupadi said. Yudhishtra shook his head, dismayed and troubled.

“The saint is worried. Brother, forget your cares and laugh with us,” Bhima said, thowing an arm over Yudhishtra’s shoulder.

“If only we had the gem Aswathama wears,” Draupadi sighed.

“Beware what you wish for, Draupadi. Fate has a nasty habit of fulfilling wishes in a way you never wished for.”

“Playing with words as usual, Krishna? Come down from that chariot. How can I thank you for all that you have done?” Draupadi laughed as Krishna jumped down with a smile. At that moment, lightning struck the chariot, stunning everyone. It burst into flames, the horses neighing desperately in the throes of death.

“Krishna, an ill omen! I am afraid the Gods are angry with us for killing all the
maharathis
of the Kauravas. Have mercy on us.” “Yudhishtra, you are no longer the mendicant banished to the forest. You are the Lord of Bharatavarsha. Do not worry about the chariot. It was already burnt when Bhishma’s arrow struck it on the first day of the war. I kept it intact. Now, since the war is over, it has exploded.”

“Hare Krishna!
Behold the glory and miracle of the great Lord,” Dhaumya cried. The crowd broke into a frenzied chanting of the Lord’s name. Krishna raised his right hand in benediction, smiling at the faithful in all his divine glory.

“I wish to bathe in scented water and sleep in a soft bed again after thirteen long years. I am going to the palace at Upapiplava,” said Draupadi, looking at her husbands.

“Queen Draupadi,” Krishna said in a teasing tone, “take your sons with you to the palace.”

“My sons are with my brother, to celebrate the great victory. The boys deserve it,” Draupadi said and then called for the servants to bring her palanquin.

Bhima whispered in Yudhishtra’s ear, “Draupadi adores that gem Aswathama wears. Where has the cursed Brahmin gone? I will slay him and bring it to her.”

Yudhishtra turned to look at Bhima. Did the same blood run in their veins? “Has your thirst for blood not been quenched even after such carnage, my brother? Let us not add the sin of
Brahmahatya.
Leave Aswathama alone.”

“We already have the sin of
Brahmahatya
on us. Remember, your own words caused Guru Drona’s fall.”

There was no refuting Bhima’s words. Yudhishtra looked away, ashamed.

“Brother, forgive my harsh words. We are going to Duryodhana’s camp; there are many men and women there who are now our slaves. Guru Dhaumya has declared that all the Shudras will be our
dasas
as in the days of old. We will restore our great traditions.”

Yudhishtra remained silent. Bhima bowed and was about to leave, but hesitated before climbing into his chariot. “Brother, something tells me that the Brahmin is dangerous. He is like a wounded tiger. He will strike back. Give me permission to hunt him down.”

“No, Bhima, I will allow no more killing. How I wish Lord Balarama was here!”

Bhima shook his head and ordered his charioteer to drive him to Duryodhana’s camp. The spoils of war awaited him. How good it would feel to sleep in Duryodhana’s bed, how poetic and sweet would be the revenge of drinking
soma
from his crystal cup. Bhima turned and saw Yudhishtra walking towards the spot where Bhishma lay dying. His brother was unpredictable. What good would it do him to visit the dying old man when the Goddess of victory had become their consort?

****

An owl swooped down into a tree and the crows there cawed in fear. “Night has made the bird stronger. Do you understand, Uncle?” Aswathama asked Kripa. The gem he wore in his headcloth glittered as lightning flashed though the forest, turning night into day. Darkness immediately rushed back, cloaking the world in shadow.

“Sneaking into the Pandava camp at night is downright crazy, Aswathama,” Kripa replied, squatting beside the lake, not far from where Suyodhana lay dying.

Kritavarma stood nearby, deep in thought. “Kripa, Bhima hit Suyodhana below the waist. He is worse than any Mlecha!”

Aswathama’s patience snapped. “I owe it to Suyodhana.”

“How will the three of you do it when there are over five thousand warriors in their camp?” Kripa asked, annoyed by his nephew’s lack of common sense.

“I don’t know how, Uncle, but I must do it if I am to ever find peace again.”

“We can surrender and then gradually incite the people. We can have a revolution soon and...”

“No, Kritavarma, this must be done tonight. Shiva, give me courage, give me power.”

“Pray, and perhaps the Lord will clear your muddled mind from such foolish thoughts,” snapped Kripa.

Like a man possessed, Aswathama ran into the forest. Kripa and Kritavarma looked at each other in astonishment. Kripa uttered a curse and began running behind Aswathama. Kritavarma followed. The sky cracked open with lightning and a drizzle began. They could hear Aswathama running through the forest, stumbling on roots, crashing into bushes and chanting the name of Shiva. Birds awoke in screeching panic above them and hares scurried away in alarm.

Kripa and Kritavarma lost Aswathama for some time and when they found him again, he was lying prostrate before the idol of Rudra, the fiercest form of Shiva. Thunder clapped and lightning flashed, lighting up another statue nearby – Drona stared at them in stone. With a shock, they realised they were standing in Ekalavya’s practice ground. What forces had led their feet to this place, hidden deep in the forest? The storm raged around them. Was Rudra welcoming them with his thousand arms or sending them a warning?

Aswathama’s voice rose over the thunder. “Oh Shiva, Lord of the Universe, Lord of all beasts, humans and demigods, Lord of Kailasa, be one with me in my fight for
dharma.
Be the strength in my arms, the fire in my eyes, the power in my bow and the sharpness in my sword. I go to do what no warrior should, knowing I will be despised for attacking my enemy while they sleep. I do it for my country, for the future of Bharatavarsha, and for my friend. If loving my motherland is a crime, let me be called a criminal. If friendship is a sin, let me be a sinner. Let all the blame be mine, but give me the courage for this one night. Be with me, All-merciful, All-knowing, All-powerful Parmeshwara. Oh Destroyer of the Universe, be the sword in my hand tonight.”

Kripa and Kritavarma stood watching Aswathama as the idol of Shiva shone in the lightning. A cobra traced its way up to the throat of the idol, spread its hood and hissed at them. Aswathama raised his head and the gem in his headcloth sparkled. The cobra slid down the statue and vanished back into the bushes.

“Can we help you, Mahabrahmana?” a voice whispered, startling the three men.

Kripa unsheathed his sword and stood in combat position. Wind rushed past their ears as Kritavarma took a tentative step towards the prostrate Aswathama. Who had spoken? Kritavarma stared at the idol of Shiva in disbelief. Suddenly, as lightning flashed and the earth rumbled to the sound of thunder, an old man stepped forward. He stood leaning on his staff, his white hair flying in the wind like the mane of a fleeing horse.

“Vasuki!” Kripa said, astonished.

Aswathama scrambled to his feet and Vasuki bowed to him. “Mahabrahmana, we, the Nagas, are with you in your divine mission. If we do not do something tonight, our lives will be as stormy and dark as this evil night. You are Rudra, the destroyer of foes and we are your
bhutas.
The cobra was an omen. Our people are at your service.”

Vasuki gave a low whistle and men slithered down from the trees around them. Armed with maces, bows and poisoned arrows, the Nagas surrounded the three warriors. Vasuki leaned on his staff and proclaimed, “Today is the day for revenge, for Ekalavya, Iravan, Khatotkacha, and the countless others who died in Khandivaprastha. We shall avenge our brothers. Just as Krishna and Arjuna trapped us in Khandiva, we shall trap them in their dwelling. The wheel of
dharma
belongs to no man.
Dharma
is time and time is Mahadeva, the Lord of destruction. The wheel is turning, my friends, and it will crush those who are now riding high. Hail Kalabhairava, Lord of Time!”

Thunder crashed overhead but hundreds of Nagas raised their maces and tridents and roared in unison,
“Har Har Mahadeva!”,
as if challenging the very heavens.

Aswathama prised the sword from the hands of the Rudra idol and bowed before his father’s statue. “Bless me, Father. Forgive me for what I do,” he whispered. He paused for a moment to look at the angry skies. The gem sparkled like a star. Then he began running to where the Pandavas slept, smug in their victory. Kripa and Kritavarma followed. Like the
bhutas
of Shiva, the Nagas ran after Aswathama, as stealthy as a cobra stalking its prey.

Vasuki watched them disappear into the forest and then fell on his knees before the idol of Shiva. “Forgive me, Lord, for what I have done to the only Brahmin who was compassionate to our people. But I had no other choice. Be merciful.” He waited for a sign that his Lord had forgiven him but all he heard was the roar of the storm. Nor did he see the cobra slithering towards him.