The Aftermath

Kripa sighed as he dismissed the young prince. It felt like no time had passed since the days he was teaching this boy's fathers and grandfathers. He was definitely living up to their name, Kripa reflected.

A few years had passed since the conclusion of the calamitous war of Kurukshetra. This boy, Parikshit, was the only heir of the Kuru-Pandava dynasty. Even an austere teacher like Kripa had to admit that the boy was ahead of his years. He was polite and eager to learn. Even the strictest of teachers would have to admit that having him as a student was a source of great delight.

Hearing a sudden noise, he turned instinctively. His hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. As he looked up, his grip relaxed. It was just his sister, Kripi. "Still?" She smiled sadly.

Kripa sighed again, "I want to let go of the memories, but the memories will not let me go. The war, its horrors, all of it still lives inside me. The worst part? I can't even die! People spend decades of their lives trying to achieve immortality. Those like me, born with this boon, know what a curse it is in disguise! You will not understand my dear, for you have not seen war."

"What do you know of that, Kripa?" His sister asserted, "I've lost my husband to this war. They severed his head while he was unarmed and grieving. I saw my son murder unborn children and sleeping maidens. I heard him boast of it as revenge. I know what war makes of you men, but it does not spare us, women, either. Will I ever forgive my son? Never! Will I be able to forgive the man that brought him to justice? Still no! I'm a broken woman through and through."

"It's not a competition, Kripi!" Kripa exclaimed, "I've held those children in my arms at their naming ceremonies, and I've chanted prayers at their funerals! I still wake up, in the middle of the night, my kinsmen slaughtering each other in my dream, while I stand helpless. And your son, I see him too. In my sleep, I cry and I beg him to stop, but he pays no heed. He continues his dance of destruction, and I follow him. Blood spills onto my hands and stains my dress! I am responsible for his massacres too. Every house and garden of this palace reminds me of their childhood, and my part in destroying their lives!"

"My son is banished, and I know I shall never see him again! You cannot understand the pain of a mother as she is reminded of her failure day after day. I do not wish to live in this city any longer! It has given us nothing but pain. Let us leave brother!"

Kripa said, "Where shall we go, Kripi? Our King has pardoned my involvement in the war, but other countries may not be so forgiving!"

"Is this befitting of the son of a hermit?" Said Kripi, "We'll live in the jungle if need be! You and I will perform austerities and beg for alms."

"I cannot just leave! I have a moral obligation to this kingdom. I cannot leave until the young prince is ready to ascend his throne. His sires are in no condition to pull through for him. The Kings are still mourning their kinsmen, the Queen will not speak to anyone. The boy is alone in this palace of ghosts! Someone needs to be strong for the sake of the child for he is the future of this kingdom!"

"Has this family not hurt us enough, Kripa? You still wish to help them?"

"Do not forget Kripi, you and I partook in the raising of the monster that is your son. He tried to kill the prince before he was born. I think we owe this much to him! Also, like it or not, I am still under oath, and cannot leave the country till the King dismisses me."

Kripa stared at the horizon. Maybe this was divine punishment. To stay in this prison-like palace, and be reminded of the war every living moment. The war might have ended on the exterior, but it raged on within the hearts of broken men and women.