Kurukshetra: The defining Krishna-Arjun journey

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙𝟚: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖

Arjun's pov

"My Lords!"

Arjun blinked against the sudden light of a lantern.

"My Lords, we are ruined--!"

It was Drishtadyumna's charioteer, sweating and sniveling, fallen to his knees before the five brothers as they sat up, disoriented.

"What happened?" Yudhishthir asked anxiously.

"The son of Dronacharya," sobbed the messenger. "Aswatthama with his immortal jewel. He killed them all."

***

In the eighteen day war, they had not seen a negligible amount of grisly sights.

They had seen human bodies torn to pieces by wild elephants, vultures preying on man and beast, rivers of blood with human flesh as foam.

They had been responsible for a large part of it, too.

However, no sight on any battlefield had ever been more gruesome than a camp, silent with sleeping people slaughtered to death.

***

There was Drishtadyumna, barely recognizable, for he appeared to have been trampled to death, awarded a torturous death by Dronacharya's son. There was Shikandin, split into two down his body. There were piles and piles of unnamed bodies, of Panchal and Matsya and Kuntibhoj, floating silently in their blood against the darkness of the night.

And there was Prativindhya pierced through in the stomach with a spear; Sutsoma with a sword in his ribs; Satanika and Srutashena with their heads severed clean off; Srutakarma with his head mangled with the blow of a club.

Arjun was broken out of his silent trance as Yudhishthir collapsed in dead faint.

***

"Jyesht! Jyesht!"

How did Sahadev speak? Arjun wondered. How did he remember how to speak? Was it because he had foreseen this massacre?

"Nakul," said Sahadev urgently. "Go and fetch Panchali--be quick--"

Nakul rose on unsteady knees and disappeared. Arjun did not suppose he would be able to hold up till he reached their wife, but he could not stand, so he did not try to follow him.

Aswatthama. He was not an enemy. He had never been an enemy. He had almost been a friend. How many hours had Arjun whiled away with him at the gurukul, competing in friendly contests? How many letters had they exchanged over the years, asking after each other's wellbeing?

Aswatthama, a friend, had done this. A friend.

A friend.

Beside him, Bheem knelt as still as Arjun, gazing into nothingness, as Sahadev sprinkled water into Yudhishthir's face and coaxed him back into consciousness.

***

Nakul had not warned Panchali about what to expect. That was clear the moment she set foot into the camp. Her petrified scream faded away into the night when her eyes fell on her brother and her sons and then she, too, blacked out.

Bheem stirred himself finally to catch her before she hit the ground. Yudhishthir had come around by then, and helped him. The choked noise he was making could not exactly be called sobs. Nor screams.

Arjun did not know what to name it.

Madhav, his heart cried. Madhav.

And then he remembered how to speak.