BOOK NINE
AUM, I bow down to Narayana, the most exalted Nara and to the Devi Saraswathi and say Jaya!
ONE
The next day, with the rising sun, Acharya Kripa comes to Duryodhana’s tent. He finds the Kaurava wide awake, his eyes red, intent. Obviously, he has not slept all night. Kripa takes Duryodhana’s hand and speaks to him.
“Curb your sorrow, my prince, it drains you. How cruel this kshatriya dharma is, which venerates killing and dying above everything else. Just look at you, my poor child. I have seen you since you were an infant and look at the pass you have reached. Duryodhana, real dharma is to protect precious life, not destroy it.
You know how fond Aswatthama and I are of you. Listen to an old man that loves you. When this war began you had the bigger army and you were certain of victory. That is not how it has turned out. Bheeshma fell, then Drona was killed and now Karna is dead. So many of your brothers are dead and your son Lakshmana. At least now, you must realize that Arjuna is invincible. Krishna is his sarathy and no one can stop him.
Look at your army today: like stragglers of a caravan attacked by bandits. Do you remember what it was, eighteen days ago? How many men have perished, how many noble kshatriyas. We were all there when Dusasana was killed; none of us could stop Bheema. We were all there when Jayadratha died; could we stop Arjuna then? The truth is that you are in the wrong and dharma is against you.
How can you hope to win this war? Duryodhana, even now it is not too late. You still have that most precious treasure: you have your life. Don’t throw it away.
Go to Yudhishtira; offer him peace. He will welcome you, share the kingdom with you. Krishna will welcome peace. The rishis say you must fight only when you are strong. When you are weak, peace is the sensible course. You will still save thousands of lives and every living soldier on Kurukshetra will bless you. I beg you, Duryodhana, listen to me!”
Kripa is so overwrought his eyes roll up and he faints. Duryodhana revives his Acharya, sprinkling water on his face. Kripa wakes and still sobs. Duryodhana takes his old master’s hand and says kindly, “Only you, who love me, will speak like this. Everything you say is true. Before the war began, you spoke strongly against it; once battle was joined, no one fought as you did. I saw you, always in the van of our legions, like a man half your age. You are my first guru. Drona came much later. You were my master since the day I was born and you speak not out of fear or ambition, only love.
But it is too late to think of peace. We are men of the world. We know how much the Pandavas have suffered at my hands. Think just of the day of the dice. How will they ever forgive me for what happened on that day? This war has opened my eyes. Once, I only thought of what I wanted and I would do anything to get it. Today I can almost feel the Pandavas’ pain in my own body.
Bheema and I played together as boys. I confess to you now, he was always an affectionate fellow, wild but loving. Did you see what he did to Dusasana yesterday? Did you see the look in his eyes when he cut off my brother’s hand, ripped open his chest and drank his blood? What rage he must have carried in his heart, for thirteen years, that a loving man like him could do a thing like that. You think Bheema will forgive me? Never.
Then, think of Abhimanyu. Perhaps if he had not died, we could still have sued for peace with the Pandavas. Now, even if they do make peace, do you think Krishna and Arjuna will forget how Abhimanyu was killed? And do you think Bheema and the others will forgive what we did to Draupadi on the day of the dice? She will never forgive us. She has sworn she will sleep only on the floor until Bheema kills me.
Acharya, your love blinds you with hope. Peace is impossible, let us not even think of it. The Pandavas have suffered too long and too much to accept peace now. Besides, I do not want peace.
Perhaps you are right and they might still settle for peace. Yudhishtira is so full of dharma, that if I make the offer he may accept it. Krishna and Arjuna might forgive me for Abhimanyu’s death, since I have also lost my brothers and my son. But what will I do with peace, Acharya? You forget that for thirteen years I have ruled the earth myself. How can I bear to share it with anyone? And it will hardly be an equal sharing. Yudhishtira and his brothers will rule and I will be no better than their servant. I have shone alone all these years, dimming the glory of every other king in Bharatavarsha. How can I bear to walk behind my cousin now? Think of the shame of it. It will be far worse than dying.
Yes, I have ruled the earth these thirteen years and mine has been a splendid reign. Do you think that otherwise all these lords of men would have come with their armies to fight for me? Many more came for me than for Yudhishtira. I have tasted power like no other man. I have known wealth and luxury that even other kings hardly dream of. I have given away as charity more than many kings own in all their lives. And now you want me to be my cousin’s subject and to rule half a kingdom, if that, at his mercy? Ah Kripa, you mean well, but the dying man does not relish the bitter medicine that can cure him.
I am set on war and for me it is the only course. I might be many things, Acharya, but I am not a coward. I have never been afraid of anyone. I have lived the life of a great king: no pleasure I have not tasted in surfeit. I have the blessings of my poor because I have been generous in charity. Night and day, since I was a boy, I have heard the Vedas chanted; and you know how many yagnas I have performed. I have set my foot on my enemies’ heads and I have been munificent with my own. I never turned away any man who came to me in need. My conquests are numberless and far-flung and I ruled my kingdom ably. Which man who has lived the life I have will willingly serve the rest of his years as the Pandavas’ slave?
So many of my friends and my brothers are dead: all those that wanted me to rule the earth. They died for my sake, as kshatriyas should. In this fleeting world, where everything is always dying, only honor matters. I will not sacrifice my honor to save my life and live in misery under another man’s yoke. Karna always said only honor was worth striving for, since only honor is immortal. If I die fighting on Kurukshetra, all my sins will be washed from me and I will have honor forever. A ksha-triya should die in battle, not of old age and sickness.
My mind is made up. My friends have given their lives for me and the only way I can repay the debt I owe them is to follow them out of this world. For my sake, Bheeshma lies dying. Drona has fallen for me and Karna, Jayadratha, all my brothers and millions more. Each of those deaths is an arrow in my heart. I must go to those who have died for me. The only thing that could have held me back is love for my kingdom. But when Karna died, the kingdom I meant to share with him lost its last attraction. I have enjoyed a kingdom for long enough and care nothing for it any more. How can I even dream of making peace with the Pandavas, after they have killed those who loved me? That would be ingratitude past forgiving.
No, death is my only way. You should not grieve for me. I am beyond caring for life, indeed, I am impatient to die. When Karna perished, my heart went with him. I am hardly alive any more; my life is a hollow thing without my friend. He was the noblest man that ever lived. I cannot live without him and all I want is to be with him again. Acharya, you cannot wish it on me to die in a sickbed, surrounded by wailing women. That is not the kshatriya’s way. Forgive me, but I cannot make peace with the Pandavas.”
Duryodhana falls silent. For just a moment, Kripa is sure he detects something like regret in the Kaurava’s voice: genuine regret that he cannot make peace with his cousins. The harshness and hatred have vanished from Duryodhana and the best in him seems to shine forth after what he has suffered on Kurukshetra. It is as if he is exorcised of all his demons; Kripa thinks sadly that of all the Kuru princes this one, as he is now, is the most lovable. Amazing gentleness sits on Duryodhana and Kripa sighs and says nothing more. There is still the war to be fought and they must choose a new Senapati to replace Karna.