Redemption

he wind was howling like a Banshee , sending a chill through his spine – an eerie sound which indicated of another blood bath , one similar to the famed battle of Kurukshetra , where lives had been lost to restore pride. In those days , the duty of a Kshatriya was to wage war and win. It was a society where even plundering and pillaging had to be done ethically. Wars were fought and kingdoms defeated but dynasties were not dethroned. It was a society where a Kshatriya’s worth depended on his battle scars.It was a society where each man had his job cut out for him , where Shudras served , Vaishyas traded , Brahmins chanted and Kshatriyas ruled – anyone who dared think different was cut down , like the noxious weeds in paddy fields were wont to.

His thoughts were interrupted as the wind howled again , this time with great ferocity knocking down their humble shelter , forcing his team to scurry out into the open , cursing their luck as they took cover from the pounding storm beneath the crumbling ruins of what had been a  Masjid – a place of worship , that had been desecrated by the men who’d pledged their lives for Jihad – the holy war where the only thing which did not matter was religion , they very religion that seemingly dictated one’s violent act , a religion which made men destroy their place of worship – just because a few helpless Hindus had taken shelter. It seemed to him that there were a lot of similarities between Kshatriyas of the yore and jihadis  – both had an ethical framework and a divine cause , which were ignored in the pursuit of glory and bloodshed – both were capable of altering their holy book of principle to suit their whims and fancies , often trying to justify their selfish needs and unethical practices through them, sometimes destroying the very fabric of society. Things had not changed much between the Bharata war and today’s Jihad and that thought gave him some comfort , as he took shelter beneath a warm boulder.

He was the only son – the only son of doting parents , whose sole purpose in life had been to grant his every wish. He was the kuldeep of his family , the sole heir to his father’s empire and a worthy successor. He was a good looking ,well educated, intelligent lad , whose only flaw had been his thirst for more , a never ending thirst which had lead to strife and bloodshed , a war which had claimed everyone dear to him – his friend , mentor , idol and father. An empire had collapsed , due to his greatest vice. His greed and inner turmoil had destroyed his entire life in an instant.

He had been born a Brahmin – a blue blooded one at that , whose ancestors were the great sages , who had been revered by their contemporaries – yet he was not brought up like one. He did not learn the vedas , did not debate on the upanishads and could not remember the mrityunjay mantra to save his life. He was his mother’s eternal shame and his father’s pride – his father whose only weakness was his son , a weakness which had been exploited mercilessly , leading to death and despair.

He was a broken man after his father’s death , a man who was simmering with rage that he had been isolated from his mates. He had given in to his turmoil as his comrades had died one by one – destroyed by the traps set by the Kapatdhari who was worshiped by millions. His rage had grown as he saw his mentor die , a man who had taken him under his wing , who had been his brother in all but blood , a man who had died trying to claim his birthright . He had gone crazy then , his rage engulfing him like the flames of the forest fire which had a tendency to destroy everything in its path.

As he burned the camp of his victorious enemies , he had rejoiced , rejoiced that he had become a true Kshatriya – a conqueror of the highest order. As he stood by the raging fire , he had failed to realize that he had become a monster , a monster who would be cursed to roam the earth for eternity – a monster who would not be included in the paens that were composed in the honor of his fallen comrades. In his greed and shortsightedness , he had committed a blunder that day , a blunder which he was trying to right with his actions.

His thoughts were interrupted as the wireless came to life – the enemies had been sighted right above their camp and it was up to them to capture the peak – which was the enemy’s key post above the arterial highway that brought supplies to the front. As he donned his fatigues , his entire life flashed before his eyes – his glorious past in the land of the blessed , his meaningless cursed existence which had plagued him for 20 centuries , his life as an army man which had been his only meaningful journey .

He left the camp all alone , with his backpack loaded with what he deemed as essential supplies.  He was carrying a heavy payload , yet he felt light – light like a feather known for its agility , light unlike how he had felt all these centuries . As he embarked on his journey of redemption from which there was no return , he started chanting the Mrityunjaya Mantra – He was a brahmin and a Kshatriya – He was Ashwattama the cursed , on his way to redemption.

PS: At the end of Mahabharata , Lord Krsna curses Ashwattama to roam the earth for 30 centuries , in return for the one atrocious act he committed. If the events of Bharata had indeed been real , Ashwattama’s curse would have ended by the 20th century. This was my take on his path of salvation. He had committed the sinful act of setting the Pandava’s camp alight to avenge  Duryodhana. In my fanciful thoughts , he’d have died a Kshatriya , a honorable one at that trying to save his country.

PPS : For those of who , are curious to know , Ashwattama the soldier , commits suicide and takes with him the enemies who are better armed than his team are , to save his country and comrades

PPPS : Do share your thoughts on the same

Love All

There is a very interesting fact about the game of tennis. Every time a game is about to begin , and the players get ready to serve , a call of love all is made. As a kid highly ignorant of a game , I often wondered what the statement indicated . I came to know later that it indicated a fresh game , where both parties start at the princely score of zero. I was rather disappointed at the explanation given – my highly imaginative mind had built stories around that statement and I was shocked to know that it just referred to the score.

Nevertheless , I started following the game , which was soon to become my second favorite sport – after Cricket , of which I am crazy about and of which I have better knowledge of – thanks to the cricket craze at home.Tennis is a rather intriguing game – it highly concentrates on an individual , his performance , strengths and weaknesses. It glorifies personal excellence , reiterating that while team work works , it is the strength of the individual which contributes towards the success of the team – which is very different from the basic principle of Cricket , where the team is important than the individual.

This is highly evident from the fan following in Tennis – people are fans of a Nadal , Federer , Djokovic , Navaratilova as opposed to cricket where Barmy Army supports the English team as a whole. Even when Navaratilova  switched her national allegiances , her fan following didn’t dwindle much.It was much later that I came to know that national pride did matter in Tennis , so much so that two stalwarts , legends in their own right , swept aside their differences to earn the top honor for their country – The tournament was the prestigious Davis cup and the stalwarts in question were Pete Sampras and Andre Agassi , who contributed towards one of the most intense rivalries known on the tennis court, spilling over even when they played together in an exhibition match against Federer and Nadal.

As John McEnroe once said – they were never good friends and never could be . Yet these men were sportsmen enough that they could ignore their personal issues and concentrate on a common goal . Contrast this with India – a country not so rich in tennis stars , a country where people still talk about Ramanathan Krishnan , Amritaraj Brothers , a country which still relies on its aging stalwarts to fight for the country’s pride – two men who are best buddies turned foes – each well known for his exploits on the tennis court.
It all started with an innocent question and a sensible policy. The London Olympics was in question and the AITA wanted to ensure a medal by concentrating on quality rather than quantity. There were four players in contention – Somdev on the mend from an injury , Paes ,who had a direct ticket to the Olympics by virtue of his rank , Bhupathi and Bopanna.

Logically , Paes was allowed to choose his partner – yet he graciously deferred to AITA which made an announcement that , Bhupathi would be the lucky partner . This made sense as the pairing was a successful one and had played together as late as 2011. The decision meant that Bhupathi was also free to play the mixed doubles partnering Sania. All was hunky dory until Bhupathi issued a joint statement with Bopanna , stating that they had been playing together as a team since the last 8 months and deserved to be chosen ahead of Paes.

This was the start to what has become a mud slinging contest between all the parties involved and no one has come out unscathed yet. The players in question are busy sending messages to the print and TV media , furiously retweeting the statements of twitterati , supporting them – instead of sitting together and trashing it out.

Out of the three , Bopanna is the prize bull. He is the partner of choice for both Paes and Bhupathi – yet he  has refused outright to pair with a man who has been his Davis cup captain. In a passionate letter to the media , Rohan describes the loss he had to undergo – the  break-up of his partnership with Quereshi , in order to have a shot at the Olympic medal. He reckons that he cannot partner Leander , as the partnership with Mahesh was formed with the grand event in mind ; a partnership which has yet to yield any result.Bopanna’s words come across as a sincere opinion from a champion – but in my humble opinion it is fake. If a player wants so badly to win a medal for his country , he would have jumped when offered a chance to partner Leander , even though he had disagreements with him. His letter to the media reeks of moral up handedness and  blatant partiality to another man.

Next comes Bhupathi , who stood to gain the most out of the deal. Had Leander partnered Bopanna, it’d have been Lee partnering Mirza in the mixed doubles , given the experience he had and his reputation as a formidable contestant in the format. Had Bhupathi accepted the AITA decision , he had a good chance at the men doubles medal and in addition , he would have been the preferred choice to partner Sania , given his partnership with her. As I read his letters to the media , I am confused as to why a player of his repute can’t see beyond personal differences. His airing of the dirty linen in the public has not won my favor too. His suggestion of leaving Leander out of an Olympic team , to send what in his words is the best team in doubles – rankles me. To me it appears that Bhupathi with Bopanna is conspiring to evict a man who has won his right to be there.

Lastly , there is Leander , a man who has behaved admirably in my opinion. While he has accepted that his preferred choice is Bopanna , he has been ready to team up with anyone the AITA suggests , as he wants the best for his country. Therefore I agree with him , when he says that pairing him up with young rookies like Yuki Bhambri and Vishnuvardhan is unfair. He is not speaking from a personal context here. He sincerely believes that having a player who is ranked at the top will help the country have a better shot at the medal and I tend to agree with him.

As we near the deadline for the Olympics nomination , which is on Thursday , things seemed to have reached a stalemate with no one ready to compromise.I am not sure what the solution would be , but I wish Leander would partner with the young Yuki – and try hard to win . If that happens , life would come a full circle for Lee , who started his tennis career as a 19 year old partnering the much senior Krishnan , for Davis cup rubbers. If the AITA does send two teams , with Bopanna – Bhupathi being one of them and Leander – Yuki/Vishnu the other, I would agree to the decision but would support only one of the teams and that would not be the Bhupathi – Bopanna duo.

As I write this message , I wonder if these guys have an inkling of how unsportsmanlike their behavior is. It is in this context that I wonder if ” Love all” has a greater implication than what is said – may be it is a constant message to the player , asking him to respect peers for their skill and expertise , asking him to shed rivalries off the field , asking him to sweep aside personal conflicts when it comes to greater causes. “Love All” to me seems to be the need of the hour now in the context of Indian Tennis – a warning for the men to regain their focus on the greater cause – Olympics.

Mahabharata Chronicles V

It was a chilly night - a chilly night where the wolves howled - howled with misery at the fate which had wrought a cruel blow on the house of Kuru ; a race of Kings , Warriors and Statesmen , a race of men destined for fame and glory ; a race of men who were dead - slain by deceit , at the altar of death by the hands of Dharma , the very hands which reeked of injustice, the very hands which were seeking out to snuff the flame - the very flame that was burning bright within his emaciated body , burning bright despite the calm of the surrounding waters.

He was the eldest son - eldest son of a figurehead king ; a king who'd been overlooked for a younger brother , a king whose sole duty was to hold the throne and the province for his so called nephews, sired upon others , a king who was so helpless that he had to bow down to what was not the norm , a king who was a doormat without ambition
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He was the eldest son , but not the heir-  and the fact had bothered him - bothered him until he had burned , burned like that house of lac at varanavrata , burned with jealousy , jealousy for the sons of Kunti , for the vagabonds who had usurped what had been his rightful place.

He was named Duryodhana ;the unconquerable , a warrior of the finest pedigree who had managed to become the king of kings , obtaining suzerainty over everything - everything but for his envy and thirst ; thirst to claim what was his by law and lineage ; envy - envy that his so called cousins were treated with respect and adulation that were meant for Gods - respect and adulation that had evaded him and his siblings - despite them trying very hard.

As he lay suspended within the confines of the river mother , his mind went back to the day when it all had started - the day when his cousins were brought to Hastinapura , dressed in finery befitting princes , finery which had belonged to his glorious ancestors , finery which had been denied to him . He saw his  distant , reticent grandfather lift Nakula in his arms , Nakula who was wearing the yellow gold crown decked with Rubies , the crown which his youngest brother had wanted for his birthday but was denied - denied so that an usurper can lay claim to them.

The usurpers had not stopped with conquering his material possessions - his toys , rooms and attire . They had been greedy , greedy for love , power and position , greedy like their clinging mother who was a vile snake beneath the veil of  a frail woman who needed the support of her brother-in-law ; a woman whose ambition extended beyond making her parakshetra sons recognized as royalty ; a woman who had tilted the balance in her favor singlehandedly ; a woman who had cheated his blind sire ; a woman who had taught him deceit - deceit which he had used to his advantage.

As his cousins stood triumphant at Indraprastha , on a royal platform built on years of deceit and trickery - he had made plans ; plans to regain what was lost with interest - plans to put the usurpers in place - plans to banish the Kaunteyas where the belonged - plans to banish them to the harsh life of Vanaprastha - plans which had been executed to perfection.

He had thought his life's purpose complete then - the pretenders had been thrown out and the throne was restored to the rightful successors. He had then made plans ; plans for the throne and plans for the populace ; plans which had been successful - plans which had earned him the name of a good king , an able administrator and a worthy son of the house of Kuru - plans which seemed to have reached their fruition as he completed the Rajasuya Sacrifice - plans which had been shattered as yet another war had been declared.

He had been hopeful then - hopeful that his eleven akshauhinis would be sufficient to win him the war - hopeful that Dharma would triumph; hopeful that peace would continue ; hopeful of  a bright future for his sons and brothers ; hopeful for a long line of Kurus to rule after him - the line of glorious Kaurava kings , tracing their lineage to Duryodhana - the unconquerable.

His hopes had been dashed ; dashed by his so called illustrious cousins who had practiced deceit , trickery and Adharma to win. The first to fall was his esteemed grandfather - the man who was a role model - a man he had shamelessly worshiped , offering him the highest honor of commanding the Kaurava army - a man who was unjustly killed by his favorite grandson - a grandson who had snubbed his grandfather at his brother's Rajasuya sacrifice , a grandson who had broken the sacred dharma of war  to kill his grandsire.
Next to fall had been his guru Drona , the teacher he revered , a teacher who had favored his cousins , a teacher lied to by his most trusted student and beheaded by his most valiant . The pandavas had taken great pleasure in flaunting their blatant disregard for the rules of engagement. Every crucial loss had been due to deceit and cunning - yet he had moved on ; moved on as he was meant to ; moved on with Karna - the prati surya as his only companion on the path of Kshatriya Dharma - Karna who had been the only Kaunteya who mattered to him - Karna , murdered in cold blood by his brother and cousin; Karna who had deserted his only friend in an untimely manner.

He was one of the last warriors from his side - the others being Kripa ,Kritavarma and Aswattama - Friends who had fought for him - Friends who did not deserve to die an inglorious death at the hands of deceit to support a flawed cause ; Friends who deserved to live what remained of a troubled life in peace , Friends who would be the only ones to  remember an unconquerable warrior , a good king and an able administrator , Friends who would probably be saved by this one action of his.

He had been told that the wolves had howled the day he was born - a chilly night , similar to this one , where he had been unearthed from a pot that had carried him for an year. Life had come a full circle from then.
As the wolves howled that chilly night at Kurukshetra , he made a decision , a decision to fight until death - fight against death - his cousin Bhima , who he knew would kill him by hitting his thigh to fulfill that terrible vow he had made thirteen years ago - a terrible vow which would end his life in an act of deceit.
He was Duryodhana - the unconquerable and he would die ,as he lived - a warrior who followed Kshatriya Dharma , a warrior done in by his cousin's deceit - a warrior of the Kuru race who lived and died fighting for his right.

As the wolves howled by the riverside on a chilly night - he laughed - gusty , loud , hysterical laugh of a man who had designed his own end. He was Duryodhana and he was unconquerable

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PS : This has been quite a day. I finally did a post of Duryodhana that I was meaning to do over the weekend. I was waylaid by the gripping Yuganta - a collection of essays on Mahabharata which is a must read.

PPS : For readers who are wondering if Duryodhana did know Karna's secret - I would think so. They were the best of friends and I suppose that they knew each other's secrets very well

PPPS : Do share your thoughts on this piece :)

Manimekalai

There was a saying in Tamil that a lamp glowed its brightest , moments before it gave up. Though he was not an expert on proverbs , he thought that there was some truth to the saying , as he brought his horse to a halt on the banks of Kollidam on a Friday evening , beside the towering ruins of the Kadamboor palace , bathed in the yellow glow shed by the setting sun.

As he disembarked , he couldn't help but think about his last visit to the place - a visit which had brought him where he was , a visit which had wreaked havoc with many a life , changing many a fate and who better than him , to realize that something had been at play - something supernatural may be , which had nudged fate along a direction that she was not bound to take.

He had been delighted then - delighted that maiden fate was finally bestowing her grace on him - a grace which had evaded his predecessors , a grace which had eluded the Bana dynasty for centuries , a grace which he had accepted wholeheartedly , a grace which had brought him material riches , a grace which he had belatedly understood to be a double edged knife - a grace which had deprived him of what would have been his greatest treasure - mekala.

He had first heard her name from Maran - Maran who had been chanting Mekala's name in his drug induced fervor , Maran who had begged him to take care of Mekala if something happened to him , Maran who had been melodramatic to the extent of getting him swear upon Nisumba Soodhani that Mekala would be taken care of - all this drama for a knife wound , a knife wound so trivial when compared to the deep gash on his thigh . He had been jealous that night - jealous that Maran had someone to return to , someone he loved with all his heart and soul , someone who loved him back,  if his instinct was true.

It was later , much later that he'd learned that the mystery woman was Maran's sister - the rather plain princess of Kadmboor , well known for her pedigree than her beauty.It was a well known fact that the Sambuvarayars had been searching a groom for her for a long time - her plain looks and average traits winning no favor with the handsome princes of the Chola empire and the surrounding region.He'd been given to understand that the search had proved quite futile that they were considering the option of sending her to a Buddhist monastery ; until fate had intervened - until Maran had met the impoverished Bana prince - who'd do nicely.

He had been outraged then - outraged and disgusted that a person who was supposedly his best friend , had seen him as merchandise - merchandise which could be his to command , given the right price. He was about to refuse , when Maran had told that he would find in Mekala , a loving and devoted wife - a woman who'd fill his lonely heart with love , a woman who'd be home - home to an orphaned pauper , who was a prince in name and whose sole possession was his intellect and bravery.

He'd given in then - given in to the promises of love , devotion and attachment , and to the desire of belonging - belonging to people who'd call him their own - people who'd become his one day. He had then began to dream of Mekala , of her gratitude , devotion and love. He'd made a promise to himself that day - a promise to treat her as the world's most beautiful woman - a promise to make her feel the most cherished wife ,a promise to sacrifice his lofty dreams of a beautiful companion , a promise to become a devoted husband to a woman he'd hardly known -  a promise he's kept until that fateful night at the Kadamboor palace - when Maran had condescendingly put him down in his place. It seemed that the Sambuvarayars had struck gold - their girl had been chosen to wed the much older Maduranthaka , the effeminate son of Sembian Madevi , who was going to make a push for the crown.

Maran had told him in not so many words that he was welcome at Kadamboor , so long as he kept to himself like an unwanted guest - an unwanted guest who was grudgingly welcomed and hesitantly put up. He had tried to move on then - move on as fate had meant him to ; move on to a better future - a future which had brought with it priceless gifts - a solid friendship ,  tender love , respect and valor.

Life had seemed to cruise on and he had weathered every single tribulation that had come his way from treason to a murder trial. Life had seemed to cruise on until he'd been accused to be heartless by his dear friend - a friend who was soon to become his brother-in-law , a friend who was bothered at his indifference to the plight of a woman who had become insane - insane with love and grief , insane to the extent that her immediate family had become strangers.

He had been oddly unaffected then - unaffected to the plight of a woman who had nearly become his wife - unaffected to such an extent that he was gently chided by Kundvai - the woman of his dreams to make a visit to Kadmboor to meet Mekala for one last time - as the letter from Maran claimed.

He had traveled to Kadamboor then - Kadamboor which had seen so many upheavals in the recent past ; Kadamboor which had been burnt to cinders ; Kadamboor where a lamp was glowing ; glowing brightly before an unfortunate and untimely end
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She had been singing that day - singing the very song that he'd heard when he'd first met her ; singing a song about love and wait ; singing from the neerazhi mandapam where she'd been found half dead and sane ; sane after a prolonged period of insanity. Something had shifted at the region of his heart that day - something powerful which had goaded him to embrace her , embrace her and lull her to sleep as one was wont to do with a babe , lull her into a slumber from which she'd never woken up ; lull her into peace as his heart became restless - restless with love for this woman whose greatest ornament was her inner beauty - beauty which had not been visible to the outer world until her unfortunate end.

As he glanced at the majestic  Kadamboor ruins , he heard a song ; a song he'd last heard an year ago ; a song which brought back memories of unrequited love ; a song so powerful that he wanted to cry ; a song which reminded him of lost treasure - a song which had been sung by Mekala - Mekala , his lovely princess , the day she died - a song which moved Vanthiyathevan to cry - cry like a babe over his treasure which had been stolen by the cruel lady called fate.
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PS : As a huge fan of Vanthiyathevan , I've always believed that he had some connection to Manimekalai beyond empathy. I've sometimes wondered if he'd loved her , a love which he'd recognized after her untimely demise. This post came out of that thought :)

Mahabharata Chronicles - IV

The Sun was setting over the horizon , creating a splash of orange and red , which strangely mirrored the river of blood that was drenching the ground below - blood of the brave whose stench would be associated with Kurushetra forever.

It had been fifteen days since the blood shed had begun ; fifteen never ending days where cousin had slain cousin ; teacher had maimed student - blood links broken by affiliations. Fifteen long days where his treacherous heart had fought a battle with his calculative mind and had conceded defeat.

As he gazed at the setting sun , he couldn't help but think about the day that had passed, a day which had started bleakly; ending in triumph, despair and loss. As he glanced at his rejoicing troops , he felt empty inside - an emptiness which was evident from the way he stood - legs apart ; shoulders drooped and eyes clouded. It was as if he was a mere mortal again - a mortal who would have to rub shoulders with his fellow brethren - a mortal privy to the ills and maladies that plagued men - a mortal who had fallen prey to greed and desperation - a mortal who had known what it was to be God and play with fate - and play he did with abandon until it all came crashing down.

The world saw in him an epitome of honesty and yudishtra had known , even at that tender age , that his image was one of the key factors that would play a role in making him king - king over what had belonged to his foster father once - king over what should have been his , had he been Pandu's blood.It was an image which he had  been forced to adopt at a tender age of five , while his brothers had been let go scot free. It was an image that he'd adopted when he'd set foot at Hastinapur , an image which had put a fullstop to his childhood , an image so overwhelming that he had sometimes felt heavy , heavy as if hundreds of Bhima's iron statues were piled on his head and he'd have to navigate the mighty Ganges with that load . He had felt like Narayana the protector - who shouldered the Booloka , Swarga and the netherworlds. He had felt god like until it all came crashing down , until his image was shattered to pieces by his own words , shattered to defeat a man who had taught everything he'd known including his deceit , a man whose greatest weakness had been his son - a son whose revenge could prove costly to his side.

It had not taken Yudishtra a long time to determine that his Guru's claim of impartiality was nothing but a sham , a smokescreen created to appease his boss Bhishma , a bid to become rich by being appointed the mahaguru of the Kuru Princes. But it had been years later that he'd discovered the real reason behind the sham.

They had been sent to the river to fetch water for the Abhishek of  Lord Shiva's moorthy and as boys of their age were wont to , they had all complained about the menial task when acharya had told them that the first to return would be rewarded - heavily , with knowledge of divine astras. While the others had grabbed their pots and were off to the river , Yudishtra had stopped to examine his brother Arjun's pot - Arjun who was the apple of Drona's eye and his greatest and most favorite pupil. He had been satisfied after a long time that day ; Arjun's pot had a narrow opening , very similar to the one he had , very similar to the one his brothers had. It was as if Drona was sensing the fact that they were equals - equals in stature , talent and determination. It had made him feel good , feel tingly all over , until he'd had a chance to look at a pot - a pot with a mouth wider than all others ; a pot which had been handed to Aswattama , Drona's son.
He had wanted to shout then - Shout at Arjun for believing his guru blindly when the man had claimed him as a favorite ; shout at Duryodhana who'd made Arjun his target due to the blatant favoritism that he had been shown; shout at the world in general where men like his guru thrived. He wanted to shout , shout until his voice was hoarse ; but he's kept quiet. He'd kept quiet despite the questioning glances Arjun had given , despite the fearful glances Drona had thrown. He had kept quite because he had an image to maintain - the image of Yudishtra , Dharmaputra who was honest to a fault and who wouldn't blame others based on his assumptions. He had kept quiet as he's managed to learn a secret that day - a secret that mighty Drona's weakness was his only son.

Just like rakshasas who's life was buried in an egg guarded in an island beyond the seven seas , Drona's life was his son , a son who Yudhistra had protected like one would protect a trump card in a gambling game - a trump card which once played would alter the course of the game - a trump card which might have won him the war today.

As he'd uttered the words "Aswattama hataha naro wa ? Kunjaro Wa" - he'd known that he'd played his trump ,  trump he'd held dear for years together , a trump which had shattered his image as another Harischandra , a trump which had made his chariot , hit the ground - a chariot which had always been four feet above the ground.

As he gazed at his men who were rejoicing ; he had a sense of foreboding ; foreboding that his actions today would result in terrible consequences , a foreboding which was washed away by the joyful cries of his men who were celebrating  victory ; celebrating a death - the death of his Guru.
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PS : In order to defeat Drona , Krsna had come up with a plan to fake Aswattama's death. Drona's only weakness was his son and Krsna had wanted to use that to defeat the man. He had then colluded with Bhima and Yudishtra . Bhima killed an elephant named Aswattama and proclaimed that Aswattama had been killed. Drona had then asked Yudishtra , if it was the truth and Yudishtra had replied in the affirmative , adding in hushed tones that he was not sure if it was the man or the elephant. His hushed statement had been completely driven out by the sound of conches and drums by the Pandava Army and Drona , heartbroken had laid down his arms , only to be beheaded by Drishtadyumna - Drupada's son.
The above is my take on what Yudishtra would have felt then. Yudishtra had always been praised as a superb statesman and that has tempered my view somewhat.
Do share your thoughts on the same :-)

Mahabharata Chronicles - III

It was an important day in his life - a day when his future destiny was going to be determined along with that of his brothers - brothers in blood who were being homed at a relative's place due to the unfortunate circumstances in their father's life , brothers sharing the same father but had been birthed by different women, brothers equal in stature but for the deep affection their father harbored for his most favored son , a son who was so sure of his destiny , that he was sleeping soundly while his brothers lay awake - nervous , anxious and disturbed.

He had been named Srutakirti  - the one with the sharp intellect and true to his name , he had known that he was not the favorite son from very early on. He had been all but two years when Abhimanyu was born - Abhimanyu who was named by his father , Abhimanyu who was his mother's favorite - Abhimanyu who was destined for greater things.

He still remembered the day when his father had caught hold of Shubadra ma and had gone on to explain the intricacies of breaking into the Chakravyuh , so that the baby can get a head start on war strategies . He had been so jealous that day , that he'd demanded that he had the right to be instructed by his father before anyone else including the baby. While his Shubadra ma had laughed at the statement and had beckoned him closer , Uncle Krsna had rudely asked him to mind his business and his father had silently agreed and did nothing to interrupt the palace servant who was called to escort the little prince to his quarters.

That day he'd taken a vow - a vow that he'd make his father sit up and take  notice of what a fine son he had ; a son who was so much like him ; a son who would better than the simpering Abhimanyu  ; a son who was courageous , valiant and intelligent ; a son who held his nerves in times of trouble ; a son who was fit to succeed his father as the commander-in-chief ; a son who'd be worthy of Partha .

He had assumed it to be an easy task - an easy task of aping Arjuna ; an easy task of adopting his father's likes , dislikes , traits and values  - how delusional he'd been. He had tried hard in the beginning. He worked on his archery skills ; sharpened his dressing skills and worked on his dancing . He'd even taken to dressing like his father - despite being very uncomfortable with the poncy attire the man wore - but to no effect. The man whom he'd tried to impress was so tied up in his youngest son , that he failed to notice the efforts his eldest took - efforts to belong ; efforts to blend in with his idol. He'd nearly given up his vow that day - a day when he realized that he was an unwanted cog in his family - a family who seemed to forget that he'd existed - a family who'd not bother if he vanished; a family who did not notice one of their own;  stray away into the forest.

But it had mattered - mattered to a man who had a similar past - who knew the pain of being ignored ; a man who had rescued the child from the dark , deep jungle ; a man who had cared enough to notice an intelligent child who was desperate to belong ; a man who had nursed him back to health ; a man who had become his father - daata in all but name ; a man who he'd taken to calling as baba ; a man who understood his thirst to prove a point - A man who would not feel bad , if his son did not tread his path.

His thoughts were interrupted , as the sevak called out for permission to enter the room - It was judgment day and the maharaj wanted the princes to assemble at the Sabha in half an hour's time.Dismissing the servant , he proceeded to wake his siblings awake - it would not do them good to be late today ; the day when they were to decide their future course of education. As his brothers proceeded to prepare themselves , he flopped into a chair as exhaustion claimed him. He'd had a tough week so far. His archery skills had been put to extreme test , not counting the numerous rematches Uncle Krsna had called when he managed to outperform Abhimanyu. He thought that the old man was flabbergasted - flabbergasted that his nephew who'd had the liberty of extensive training had been outwitted by the outcast of a brother - a brother who was supposed to be a dunce when it came to archery - a brother who had somehow managed to gain expertise without his father's guidance.

His thoughts also wandered to his other uncle Balram , who'd been delighted with his performance with the mace , who'd proclaimed him as a  nonpareil in the art of boxing - who'd screamed his throat hoarse with cries of "Sadhu" every time he had   managed to out maneuver his opponent - who was delighted with his progress unlike his other uncle and who'd be extremely angry if he was late on this momentous day.
As he made his way to the Mahasabha , he thought about the vow he'd made long back ; the vow to make his daata sit up and take notice ; a vow thinking about which - he smiled ; a smile which was eerily similar to that of his uncle ; who was the king of Dwaraka.

As he walked towards the hall ; he could hear a sound cheer - a cheer which indicated that Abhimanyu , the favored prince had entered behind him - A cheer which overwhelmed the herald's announcement of his name , a cheer which ended abruptly as he made his way towards the decorated table beside which his uncles were waiting  - a table which held the objects that would shape his destiny - a table which held a bow which was used by his father and the mace used by his baba.

As glanced at the objects  he was reminded of another  vow - a vow he had made to his baba - a vow not to make hasty choices ; a vow to carve his own path and identity and he chose the mace - that very mace his baba had used to kill Jarasandha - that very mace he'd learn to master and control - that very mace he'd call his own one day.

As the crowd cheered for him listlessly ; Srutakeerti was proud ; proud that he'd made his name ; proud that he had a father who'd understand his decision ; proud that he'd finally overcome the demons of his childhood and for the first time in life he smiled - a sunny bright smile which made him look very similar to Arjun - the unfortunate Arjun who'd lost a son that day.
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PS : In the Mahabharata , Srutakeerti was the son of Arjun , borne to him by Draupadi. While there are numerous descriptions of Abhimanyu and Iravaan , the other sons of Arjun - very little information is available on Srutakeerti - which made me think if this prince was an ignored child - a second child who was not his father's favorite like the eldest and his mother's pet like his youngest.

It also made me think that He'd have had an affinity to Bhima - Bhima who was a middle child like him - Bhima who was underrated despite his many redeeming qualities. These were the thoughts that resulted in this story being written :-)

Mahabharata Chronicles - II

It was often said that the happiest day in a woman's life was the day she got married and Draupadi , being the pampered , naive princess of panchala had thought the same too. She'd conjured dreams about a happy marriage  , a happy marriage with an adoring husband and a house full of kids - a marriage in which equality , companionship and love would thrive .

But she'd been  proven wrong - No one had told her that marriage was a bargain ,a bargain where a woman was married to gain an alliance , to appease bruised egos and to pacify tempers. Royal princesses were told that they had the right to choose their partners , yet when it came to the actual process , they had very little to say.

Most fathers forced their choice on their daughters , without a consideration towards the maiden's heart. Then there were those men who didn't trust their daughter's choice and hence held contests  where the winner would be married off to their daughters
.
Then there were those fathers , who'd already made a choice , but went along with a farce of a swayamvara  , adhering to the tradition. Her father belonged to this category. In fact , his choice was the sole reason for him to beget her - a daughter , who can marry his nemesis's best student - Parth and thus assuage the insult meted out to him by Drona.

She laughed , as she remembered her father's lofty statement that she would be married of to Parth . She thought that her old man had become Senile. The pandavas along with their mother has succumbed to a fire accident - a fire accident where Lord Agni , had burnt their palace to ashes and dust.She had begged her father to let go of his ambition and come to his senses. Her father had scoffed at her statement and had told her that , he would have Arjun as a son-in-law , even if he'd have to drag his person to the Swayamvara hall from the netherworld.

And on that fateful day , her eyes closed in prayer , she had requested God to listen to her father's wish : A wish , which if came true , could assuage his insult , could lift his stature in society, and could ensure that his daughter was married to the warrior she had fallen in love with .

As she had walked towards the mandap , she couldn't help but glance at the faces gathered , searching for a resemblance for her Parth , Krsna's Parth who would come and whisk her away on a white steed , after he proved his mettle by passing through her father's test.

Parth had not come that day - and she had been terrified that she would be married off to some ugly pot bellied monster , who could shoot through the rotating wheel by looking at its reflection. She had thanked her God in abject relief , as prince after prince , tried their hand at the contest and failed miserably. She had laughed , a loud booming laugh inside her head , as she saw many an eager face droop into a disappointed expression on failing the test and losing her hand in the process. She laughed with joy as she realized that she may not be married tonight - she had more time on her hand to wait for Parth.

It was at that instant that Karna stepped forward , Karna - the king of Anga , the bosom friend of Duryodhana who had failed earlier ; Karna - the mighty Kaurava warrior ; nemesis of Arjuna and his equal when it came to prowess; Karna - the last warrior standing ; Karna - who'd surely pass her test.
She watched with macabre silence as Karna strung his bow . She watched as he took his aim and corrected his posture. She watched him as his brows furrowed in concentration - and for an instant , she thought that marrying Karna would not be a bad option. She would not be the celebrated princess of Hastinapur , would not be Parth's ardhangini , would not be the daughter-in-law of the kuru clan. She would the queen of Anga , a small nation ; with no major role to play in the ultimate game of politics. Worse than that was the fact that , she would be called a Suta's wife , would be accepted yet treated like an untouchable , if she married Karna and that was not applicable to the dusky panchali's ego.

Taking  a deep breath in as Karna was about to shoot , she gathered her strength and shouted out " Suta Putra ; do not shoot - you are not worthy of my hand in marriage - you do not deserve the honor of being panchala's son-in-law". As the court came to a standstill at her statement , she saw a Brahmin youth step forward - saw him smirk at Karna ; before he turned to her father and requested a chance to participate in the contest. From the corner of her eye , she saw Karna step back , Karna the mighty who'd been defeated by a dainty damsel's words. From the corner of her eye , she saw her father smile - as the learned Brahmin took his aim and the rest they say was history.

Decades later , as she stood in the mahasabha , she remembered vividly the day of her Swayamvara , a day where a single decision of hers would have made her life better. She was a queen now : a queen , who was being insulted by her in-laws ; a queen who had been wagered away by her husbands ; a queen who was being called a whore ; a queen who was not seen as a human being by her king and princes.
She could have been a queen - a queen of a kingdom not inherited ; but won by blood sweat and toil. She could have been a queen - a queen who was the beloved of her king - a queen who would not need to rely on sympathy to save her honor. As she looked at Karna , whose eyes were filled with sympathy , pity and some other powerful emotion that drew her to him - she realized that she could have been the luckiest woman in the world , but for the spiteful words she had uttered on that fateful day.

It was often said that the happiest day in a woman's life was the day she got married - but in her case , it was a day she'd regret - a day she'd never forget - as she had made a wrong choice - a choice which would haunt her till the end.