Pandu lay upon a magnificent bier, adorned with the finest scents, garlands, and cloth. The bier was embellished with lavish garlands, garments, and riches fit for an emperor. Advisers, relatives, and friends gathered around as the great emperor was placed upon a beautifully decorated hearse, to be drawn by men.
Madri, shrouded so completely that not even the sun or wind could catch a glimpse of her body, was also placed upon the hearse. A white umbrella was held above, while yak tail whisks were waved in a solemn procession. The air was filled with the sound of every musical instrument as the bodies were carried towards their final resting place.
Thousands of Brahmanas, Kshatriyas, Vaishyas and Shudras followed Pandu's hearse, lamenting in grief, "O Maharaj ! O Samrat ! Humare rakshak ! Hume asahaye chhod kaha jaa rahe hai aap ?"
The funeral pyre crackled as the flames consumed the mortal remains of Pandu, sending smoke spiraling up to the heavens.
Amidst the grieving crowd, Pandu's mother Ambalika wept uncontrollably in the arms of a sorrowful Satyavati. Ambika, gently held her younger sister, whispering words of comfort and reassurance, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Ambalika's heart-wrenching cries mixed with the crackling of the fire. She had yearned for her son's return every day, she longed to see his face again one day, but this was what she got.
Dhritrashtra stood with Gandhari by his side, their tears unseen but their grief palpable. Though unable to see the pyre where his brother lay, Dhritrashtra's shoulders shook with silent sobs as he said his final farewell. Gandhari's blindfold gradually became wet with tears, as she held on to her husband.
Vidur, usually known for his composed demeanor, stood by the pyre with tears streaming down his face. His strong facade crumbled, revealing the depth of his grief. The loss of his brother and sister-in-law weighed heavily on his heart, and he struggled to contain his emotions. Sulabha, his devoted wife, stood by his side, her own eyes brimming with tears of grief. She held him tightly, offering solace in the face of immense loss.
The crackling of the flames mingled with the cries of the grieving family members. Kunti stood tall and composed, her eyes fixed on the pyre, tears streaming down her cheeks despite her efforts to remain strong. She held her five sons, the weeping Pandavas close to her, offering them comfort and reassurance in the face of such loss.
The atmosphere was heavy with grief, and the most visibly affected was Bhishm. The occurrence of yet another tragic loss in his family reminded him of the pain he had endured before with the deaths of Chitrangada and Vichitravirya. It brought back the memories of previous tragedies, reminding him of the fragility of life and the heavy burden he carried as the protector of the kingdom. But the sad part was that he found himself still standing, while the younger ones had succumbed to death's grasp.
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After the cremation of Pandu and Madri, the somber atmosphere still lingered. Dhritrashtra and Vidur were seen standing side by side, surrounded by Brahmanas and citizens who had come to pay their respects. Gold, jewelry, fine garments, and even animals like bulls and cows were given away in abundance.
Dhritrashtra and Vidur's aim was clear - they wanted to ensure that Pandu's memory lived on in honor and that no one would lament his passing. They wished for the people to remember Pandu with admiration and respect, his legacy shining brightly through their acts of charity and kindness.
In the distance, Bhishm sat in silence, his usual aura of strength and wisdom overshadowed by an unmistakable grief. His weariness was palpable, having shouldered the responsibilities of the kingdom for so long and witnessing the cycle of life and death repeat itself within his family. The burden of ruling the kingdom on behalf of incompetent rulers weighed heavily on his aging shoulders, with Pandu he was assured that he could rest, but he too went to the forest and now was no more.
His thoughts wandered to the prophecy that had haunted him for years, foretelling his own death. Yet, here he was, witnessing the passing of the younger generation of his family instead. His mind questioned whether death held a certain sweetness that compelled the young members of his family to embrace it so quickly.
The grief-stricken contemplating expression on Bhishm's face mirrored the pain that enveloped the entire city. Suddenly he heard hesitant footsteps approaching. He turned his gaze only to see the young sons of Pandu arrive before him, kneeling down and seeking his blessing. With his heart heavy with the weight of loss, Bhishma raises his hand in a gesture of solace.
As he gazes at their faces, a myriad of emotions play across his aged features. However his gaze lingers on the middle one of dark complexion, whose aura seemed to hold a special light.
With a gentle gesture, Bhishm beckoned him closer, his eyes studying the young boy's face with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, "T-Tumhara naam kya hai vats ?"
"Arjun." He answered.
Bhishma exhaled heavily. Arjun, the one chosen by Brahma to bring about his end was right in front of him, he had not taken birth in any rival dynasty or any enemy kingdom, but as his own grandson. It was a cruel irony, but still one that lifted the weight of long life and burdens off of Bhishm's shoulders.
In that moment, Bhishm embraced Arjun, not as a harbinger of death, but as a liberator from the burdens of his long and tiresome existence.
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A/N
Woh aapki mrityu nahi, mukti hai Pitamah 😌 🙏
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HARIHARESHWARI 16 - विशृंखलित राजवंशाः
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