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
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
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