FOUR
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 hunger.
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.”
To please her, Yudhishtira takes the jewel and wears it in his crown.