The Unthought Chronicles

The Forgotten Friends

It was the middle of the night. He entered the tent as silently as he could. His stealth demeanor was already a story of legend. But the person inside the tent was no ordinary man. He was someone who could match his dear friend skill-to-skill.

"I knew you would come. I was waiting for you, Ashwa.", a smiling Shikha said, his eyes glancing at the fresh blood on his friend's sword.

Ashwa stood with his eyes transfixed on the ground. He wanted to look up into his friend's eye, but he couldn't. He slowly raised his gaze and stopped at his friend's chest, unwilling to meet his eye.

"Shikha...", he started saying. But something stopped him.

He had questions in his mind. Questions that no one can answer. Questions that he promised himself not to think about. But he couldn't stop himself from thinking. He was a human after all. Or was he?

"I wish I could unknot the plethora of questions in your head, Ashwa. Unfortunately, karma has pitted us against each other. You know it as much as I do, between Friendship and Dharma, I will choose the latter."

Ashwatthama sat down on the ground with a sense of despair. He wanted to go back in time. To simpler times. To happier times. But when he closed his eyes, he could see the same things again as a series of pictures in his head. His decapitated father's body. His favorite teacher, the mighty grandsire Devavrata's body pierced by hundreds of arrows. His dear friends and family dead on the battlefield. His anger was not at the immeasurable losses, but at the manner in which they were killed. Above all, he could not come to terms of the fact that his dear Shikha was also pulled into this dirty plan.

Ashwa felt a searing pain on his forehead, right beneath the syron rathna. He tried to ignore it and opened his eyes. He looked at Shikha and said with a hint of smile, "I know you better than you give me credit for, Shikha. I would not expect anything otherwise from you."

Shikha sat beside Ashwa and they both stared at the roof of the tent absentmindedly. A friendship of many tens of decades, they did not need words to understand each other. Shikha lit a chillum, drew a large puff and passed it on to Ashwa.

"Do you remember the time when I saved you from a wolf?", Shikhandi asked.

"It has been more than 30 years since that incident, yet your dim-wit brain wants to believe that you saved me. I was well in control of myself and I would have easily tackled the wolf, had you not interfered. You can try proving to the world that you are a better fighter, but everyone knows that I'm better than you", smirked Ashwa.

Shikha guffawed, "You were on the ground on your back without a sword or a shield. You call that as 'well in control'? Who taught you this fighting technique, your dad or your uncle? Have you guys given this technique a name?" Both of them rolled on the floor laughing, their chillum spilling all over the ground. "If it was not for me, yours would not have been the most handsome face in Panchal", joked Shikha.

Ashwa hadn't laughed so hard in a very long time. He slowly regained his composure and sat straight. "Why were you a part of the ploy to kill the grandsire, Shikha? Don't you think it's unethical?"

"I have never said this, and probably will never say it again. Devavrata Bheeshma is one of the finest warriors to have ever walked this land. I consider it a privilege to even breathe the same air as him. Unfortunately, the wheels of Karma had been set in motion a long time ago. You and I are merely playing a part that has already been designed and defined for us. The invincible Devavrata had to be cursed by a woman to die, because the Gods know that even they do not stand a fair chance against him when he is at his best.

And you speak about ethics during the times of war? Don't we as Kshatriyas plan and strategize for the war after taking the enemy's every weakness into consideration? How has this been any different than what we have been doing all our lives? Everybody wants to win the war, and weakening the enemy by eliminating their strongest adversary is the only ethics of war."

"And my father? Do you agree to those tactics as well?", Ashwa asked coldly.

"My dear Ashwa, it doesn't matter if I agree to this or not. I would not have agreed to the all-out attack inside the labyrinth formation as well. As I said, this is war, and everybody fights to win. In an ideal situation, none of this should have happened. But can we start pointing fingers? Who started it all? Who is stretching this, when it could have amicably settled a long time ago? We do not have one correct answer, as each perspective will have a different story and a different reason."

Ashwa sat silently. He knew Shikha well enough to know that he will only speak the truth, and his truth will always make the most sense. He slowly stood up. He did not have the mental strength to do it, but it had to be done. In the feeblest of tone, he said "I hate it, but I have to do this. Please don't make it more difficult for me."

Shikhandi heaved a sigh and got up with his sword. "Maharathi Ashwatthama, I have loved you like a brother, cherished you like a friend and celebrated you for the warrior that you are. There is no one in the bloodline of Brahmarishi Bharadwaja that I would readily lay down my life for. But if you think I'm going to go easy on you, then you are terribly mistaken my friend. I am a Kshatriya, and I will fight like one. Earn my death!"

Ashwatthama gave a sad smile and said, "I would be disappointed in you if you did that. May the best warrior win." They jumped towards each other as their swords made a loud clashing noise.

A long while passed. Crimson dawn broke out inthe distant sky. It looked as if the sky was painted with all the blood thatwas shed during the previous night. There was a slight drizzle due to a passingcloud. It seemed as if the Gods too were crying after witnessing last night'sevent. Ashwatthama stepped out of the tent slowly. His forehead was throbbingwith immense pain. His eyes were red, just like the sky above him. His eyes andcheeks were wet. But were they tears, or the rain? Only he knew!