The soldiers rushed to take their positions in the eagle-shaped formation. At Drona’s command, they rushed with terrifying speed and swooped down on the Pandavas. Iravan’s dead eyes watched the dreadful slaughter that followed without emotion, indifferent and unmoving like a stithapranja.
***
In another part of Kurukshetra, a strange ritual was unfolding. Uthayan had failed to kill Karna by sunset. He had turned his back when it had mattered the most. His life was not worth living anymore. He had no philosopher-friend to explain the mysteries of dharma and dissuade him from keeping his word. One last time he asked his ancestors’ pardon for being a coward. The bards lamented his shame, a shame shared by all his men, which they would carry for generations. Dressed in a loincloth, his face blackened with ash, Uthayan entered his funeral pyre. In his last moments, Uthayan prayed history would judge him kindly.
But he need not have bothered. His history and that of his people did not matter to Bharatavarsha. They belonged to the wrong side of the Vindhya mountains.
*****
66 HALF DHARMA
SUYODHANA SAT WITH HIS SISTER, SUSHALA. She had not spoken a word nor shed a tear since her husband’s headless body had been carried into the palace. Dhristadyumna had run off with Jayadratha’s head and deposited it in Jayadratha’s father’s lap. The erstwhile King of Sindh had become a mendicant upon relinquishing his kingdom to his son. He had been deep in meditation in the jungle near Kurukshetra when his son’s severed head had been flung into his lap. This act of savage cruelty caused life to flee the sage’s frail body. The Pandavas justified it by saying that Jayadratha himself had claimed there would be total destruction of the world, should his head ever be allowed to touch the ground after he died.
Gandhari arrived with Dhritarashtra to be with their daughter and share her grief. But Suyodhana did not have the courage to look at his mother. He tried to speak to his grim-faced father, to condole him on the loss of his many sons in the war, but Dhritarashtra cut him off saying such talk did not become a Kshatriya. His mother refused to listen. Suyodhana felt bitter. His parents had always instilled in him the importance for a Kshatriya to be prepared for war, yet when events turned ugly, they turned away from him. Sons, brothers, fathers, thousands of men – the losses kept mounting. There had been a time when even the death of a sparrow would affect him. But life had numbed his heart and mind. Death held no meaning anymore.
Suratha sat shivering behind his mother. Arjuna had killed his father. He would be expected to avenge his father’s death one day. His mother had said so. He sat looking at his father’s headless body until it was time to perform the final rites. As he lit his father’s funeral pyre, he looked towards his mother. Sushala’s eyes were dry. They burned with rage but held no grief. Suratha feared Arjuna, but he feared his mother’s wrath more.
***
“There is nothing to hold us back now,” declared Drona.
“Guru, your talk of the noble values of war only served to get Jayadratha killed,” retorted Shakuni. “You insisted on sticking to ancient rules when the other side had no compunction in breaking them at will.”
“Take care, Mlecha! Do not presume to teach me how to command.”
“You can silence me, Guru, but can you gag all our soldiers?”
Drona struggled to hold his temper in check. This was not the time and place to take on the foreigner. “Enough of mourning like women! Suyodhana, convene the war council.” Without waiting for a response, Drona walked away.
Suyodhana felt his grief turn to anger. Shakuni was right. Guru Drona had not done anything to ensure victory. He would speak his mind at the war council. If the Guru disliked his straight talk, he would just have to bear it. As Crown Prince, he had the right to demand results from his employees.
***
The battle raged day and night for the next three days. The Pandavas lost four akshahounis. The night formations designed by Drona confused and terrified them with their brilliant use of light and shadow, deceitful moves, surprise attacks, explosives and chemical weapons. The mood in the Pandava camp was sombre.
Despair hung heavily on Yudhishtra as he paced his tent. “Krishna, what do we do now? Shall we sue for peace? So many have died. I do not wish to rule a kingdom of widows. It is enough.”
Dhaumya banged his staff on the ground, saying, “Prince, these are not the words of a Kshatriya. Do you not wish to avenge your wife’s shame?”
“We have tried everything. Death and more death has been our only reward,” Yudhishtra cried, his heart heavy, his mind weary and his body exhausted.
A flame-tipped arrow landed in the neighbouring tent, setting it on fire. Soldiers ran with pitchers of water, shouting to each other.
“Guru Drona is attacking at night. He has become ruthless. The Asuras know how to fight at night, but the soldiers of the Southern Confederate now refuse to help. They say Arjuna did not keep his word and killed Jayadratha by deceit. They have started questioning our claim of being on the side of dharma. I, too, feel they are right. They want to return home to the South. We should have accepted their help when they offered. We have lost. We cannot stop Drona. It is a sin to fight the Guru.”
“Yudhishtra, be calm. Nothing is lost. Everything depends on you.” Krishna placed a hand on the eldest Pandava’s shoulder.
“How can you say that, Krishna? What can I do? Even Arjuna is unable to get near Drona. The Guru is fighting like a man possessed. He is like Rudra…Shiva. No one can touch him.”
“You can, Yudhishtra,” Krishna’s said softly. His words fell like a pebble into a pool, spreading its ripples wider and wider.
“Do not mock me, Krishna. Perhaps you can defeat him, but you have taken a vow not to touch any weapon in this war. Why don’t you lead us and fight Drona?”
“I cannot help those who will not help themselves,” replied Krishna.
“What should I do?”
“Tomorrow, I will ask you to do something. Do it without questioning.”
“I am prepared to do anything you say, Krishna, for Hastinapura. Anything to stop this bloodshed. Help us!”
“Be patient. Tomorrow we will turn the tables on the Kauravas.”
Another flame-tipped arrow landed close to them, throwing debris and sand into their tent.
“I feel sad for Drona. What a warrior!” Krishna said smiling.
“Only you could smile when defeat is staring us in the face, Krishna,” Arjuna said heavily.
“Tomorrow you too, will smile, my friend,” Krishna replied, “provided your righteous brother does what I say and you remember the lessons I imparted to you before the fighting began.”
“Do not ask me to do what I did to Bhishma Pitamaha, Krishna. His eyes haunt me. I do not want such a victory.”
“Where there is dharma, there will be victory, my friend,” Krishna replied.
As if in answer, another flame-tipped arrow fell dangerously close to them and an explosion boomed death into the night. Krishna did not even bat an eye; nor did the smile leave his lips.
***
Drona felt elated. In fourteen days he had almost ended the war. He had answered Suyodhana’s rude allegations about siding with the Pandavas, with his flaming arrows. How dared Suyodhana speak to him like that? Drona had his faults but treachery was not one of them. That despicable Mlecha Shakuni had planted such ideas in the Crown Prince’s mind. Well, the Pandavas had lost two-thirds of their army. He had even killed his old friend, Drupada. But he had yet to get Arjuna. He rarely missed a target but Krishna had managed to swerve the chariot every time. For one evil moment, Drona considered shooting Krishna. But his sense of fairness won the battle of conscience. No, he would not stoop to the level of shooting an unarmed charioteer. He was a Brahmin after all, and he would fight as per dharma, unlike the shameless Kshatriyas, who would do anything to win.
“Sir! Terrible news…” A runner arrived, panting.
“What is it?” Drona could not hear clearly over t
he din of battle.
“Sir, it is the most terrible news…”
Drona’s heart sank. There could only be one thing that terrible. “Where is Aswathama?” Drona’s lips trembled and his eyes blurred. ‘Oh Kripi, I have failed in my promise to you. What has happened to our son?’ He shook the trembling messenger. “You fool! Tell me where my son is!”
The runner bowed his head. Drona held on to the wheel of his chariot. “Is he wounded or...?”
The runner remained silent, not daring to raise his head. He could not face the Guru.
“No…no one can touch my son – not Arjuna, nor any of the Pandavas. He is the greatest warrior in all Bharatavarsha. My son, my son…”
The runner turned and vanished among the soldiers. “Take me to Yudhishtra,” Drona barked to his charioteer.
“Sir, it is too dangerous. He is deep within enemy territory.”
“Fool! Take me to him!”
The chariot rushed to the Pandava side. Drona’s arrows mercilessly cut down anyone who dared stand in his way. The opposition soon thinned, till there was no one left fighting him. Instead, the Pandava soldiers stood bowing in respect, joining him in his mourning.
‘No, no…my Aswathama cannot be dead. This is a ploy, a trick,’ Drona’s mind screamed.
Drona halted beside Yudhishtra’s chariot. When he saw the eldest Pandava’s face, he understood that everything had indeed been lost. Nevertheless, he had to hear the truth from Yudhishtra. He had been Drona’s favourite student, after Arjuna. Except for these last few days of conflict, he had always favoured Yudhishtra over Suyodhana. No, Yudhishtra would not lie to him. Arjuna would not lie to him. They were like his sons. He was their Guru. If they turned away from him now, life would not be worth living. His favourite disciples would never do that to him.
In a voice that shook despite his efforts to remain stoic, the Guru asked the man who was known never to tell a lie, “Yudhishtra, my son, what has happened to Aswathama?”
Yudhishtra could not face Drona. His gaze fell to his feet.
“Son, I know you will never lie to me. Tell your Guru what has happened.”
Yudhishtra hesitated. Despite the cold, his forehead was beaded with perspiration. He closed his eyes but his Guru’s pleading face refused to leave his mind. He swallowed, his throat dry. Yudhishtra gripped his spear and prayed for courage.
*****
67 LIES
“ASWATHAMA IS DEAD!” The clangour of war stilled on both sides as Yudhisthtra’s words fell softly into the silence.
Drona clutched his chest and collapsed to the floor of his chariot, hitting his head as he fell. The Guru had already lost consciousness when Yudhishtra mumbled, “But it was an elephant.”
Yudhishtra climbed down from his chariot and walked away, not waiting to see what would happen next. Dharma tasted like bitter poison in his mouth.
Krishna looked at Arjuna, but his friend flung down his bow. “No, Krishna, I cannot kill him. Not like this, not after making him believe we have killed his son, when what we did was rename an elephant Aswathama and kill the poor beast. It is a lie. I cannot live this lie anymore. He had always been my benefactor; he always stood by me. Do not ask me to commit another dishonourable act.”
Krishna looked at Dhristadyumna, their nominal Commander. Draupadi’s brother jumped down from his chariot with his sword drawn. “Krishna, I thank you for this. From the day he ordered Arjuna to drag my father and me to Hastinapura in chains, I have loathed this fake Guru. He killed my father yesterday. I want nothing more than to cut off his head.”
Dhristadyumna jumped into Drona’s chariot and caught hold of the unconscious Guru’s hair. Like a watermelon, he slit the throat of the man who had nearly defeated the Pandava army single-handedly, holding aloft the dripping head. “Behold! The Commander of the Kauravas! This is my tribute to my dead father, Drupada. This is my offering to Guru Dhaumya. See what a gory end has befallen this Brahmin, who chose the side of adharma.”
Shikandi came running and hugged his brother, dancing in Drona’s chariot. The eunuch shouted, “Yadho dharma, thatho Jaya.” Where there is dharma, there will be victory. Dhristadyumna laughed aloud. The Guru has paid for his karma.
Yells of jubilation rose from the Pandava ranks. Krishna did not wait to watch Dhristadyumna’s celebrations. The chariot in which Arjuna sat grief-stricken, turned to follow Yudhishtra.
A cry of agony rose from the Kaurava ranks and the Pandavas paused to listen. It was Aswathama. Filled with murderous rage, he rushed screaming towards the Pandava side, while Karna tried to restrain him. With Drona’s fall, command had shifted to Karna’s shoulders as he was the second-in-command. Aswathama began cutting down anyone in his path but Karna’s conch sounded the end of battle, shocking the Guru’s son.
“How dare you stop the fighting?” Aswathama shouted at Karna.
“This is a dharmayudha. The sun has set. I will not allow any transgressions of dharma,” Karna replied in a flat tone, looking away from his friend.
Aswathama turned to Suyodhana, waiting for him to overrule Karna, but Suyodhana too, did not look at him. Aswathama’s heart hammered in his chest. The Suta was not allowing him to even avenge his father, the man who had saved Karna from Arjuna’s arrows in Virata. But what hurt most was Suyodhana’s silence.
Aswathama stood paralysed with grief and frustration as he watched Dhristadyumna’s men turn away jubiliantly. They would talk about Karna’s chivalry for years, but Aswathama knew Karna was just using dharma as a cloak. This was his petty revenge for the treatment Drona had meted out to him when the Suta came seeking knowledge. Karna was using the same dharma as revenge. Dharma or adharma, he would get back at Dhristadyumna, he would make the Pandavas pay a bitter price, the son of Drona vowed. He shouted at the vanishing figures of the Pandava warriors, “Evil men, the fruits of karma are bitter. You are ecstatic about killing the most formidable warrior through deceit? Do you think the sin of Brahmahatya will not haunt you? Then the talk of the body shedding soiled clothes will not be of any solace, and the wisdom of being detached will sound like a hollow drum. I will get you, you evil Pandavas!”
Aswathama fell to his knees as soldiers carried away his father’s lifeless body.
*****
68 DHANAVEERA
THEY SAT BY THE RIVER, listening to the distant cries of the chandalas as they hauled off the dead to the cremation ground. The breeze carried the lingering odour of burning flesh. The ghostly light of the flaming pyres lit the southern sky. The river looked sinister and the water that sloshed at their feet was thick with blood.
Aswathama looked at his reflection and cringed when the precious stone shone in the moonlight. It had brought him so much bad luck. He had been inconsolable since his father’s death. “He died because of me. I was a worthless son, never able to rise to his expectations,” he murmured yet again.
“Aswathama, why are you punishing yourself like this? Guru Drona was proud of you. He was a great man,” Karna said to the Guru’s son. This was not the time to remember that Drona had always treated him as a lowly Suta, thought Karna.
“I should not spoil your great day, Karna. Congratulations on becoming Commander of the Kaurava army, none deserves it more,” Aswathama said without turning his head.
Karna looked at his friend. What was wrong? Was it that Aswathama had still to come to terms with the shock of his father’s death or was it something else? “I owe everything to Suyodhana; Aswathama, you know it as well as I do.”
“It was long overdue, Karna. No one is more qualified than you to command. Bring us victory. Spare none of the Pandavas.”
Karna sighed. He was thankful for the darkness that hid his face.
“Why are you so silent, Karna?”
“I will not spare Arjuna, that I promise you.”
“Not just Arjuna. None of the Pandavas must be spared!”
“I have given my word…”
“Word?” Aswathama’s breathing quickened. He
squinted at Karna. What was his friend up to?
“I will not kill any of the Pandavas except Arjuna. I have given my word to Kunti Devi.”
“Karna, are you crazy?”
“I could not refuse. She begged for the lives of all her sons.”
“You are a traitor! You should be tried for treason and hanged,” yelled Aswathama, grabbing Karna roughly. “You cunning rascal! Let us see what Suyodhana has to say about this. The Suta has shown his true colours.”
Aswathama jumped up and would have run towards the camp had Karna not held him back. “Listen to me, Aswathama! I have vowed to kill Arjuna and defeat the Pandavas.” How could he tell his friend that he was the eldest of all the Kurus and not a lowly Suta? How could he say the throne was his for the asking, that he could end the war if he agreed to become King? That would be the greatest act of disloyalty to Suyodhana. “Trust me, Aswathama. I will win this war and see Suyodhana crowned King.”
Aswathama looked at his friend. “I don’t want to create a rift in the camp, Karna, but Suyodhana will be heartbroken if he hears this. How could you do it? Suta, you are no longer my friend. I will be watching your conduct on the battlefield. If I find the slightest hesitation in you, the arrow in your throat will be mine. A traitor as our Commander-in-Chief! There is no bigger fool than Suyodhana!” Shrugging off Karna’s grip, Aswathama walked away.
“Aswathama, stop!” Karna called out but the Brahmin had vanished into the shadows of night. Traitor! The word pierced Karna’s conscience. Was he indeed a traitor to the man who had done everything for him? He had no answer. But there was no question of going back on his word, either. There was only one thing left to do – fight until he won or die in the attempt. ‘Forgive me Suyodhana…Aswathama…I never deserved your friendship.’
“Karna!” The voice startled Karna from his reverie and his hand went instinctively to his sword. He relaxed when he saw an old Brahmin standing near him. The face seemed oddly familiar. “I have come to seek alms.”