BHAGWAT GITA (NOVAL)

OBSERVING THE ARMIES

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I stood in the grand hall, its walls adorned with tapestries depicting the glory of our ancestors, the might of the Kuru dynasty. Yet, the air was thick with a tension that not even the opulence of the palace could dispel. At the far end of the hall, seated on a throne that loomed like a mountain over the room, was King Dhritarashtra, my liege, and the father of the Kurus. His presence commanded respect, yet today, there was something more in his voice—a tremor, a crack that revealed the storm raging beneath his calm exterior.

"O Sanjaya," he called to me, his tone heavy with an unspoken fear. I stepped forward, bowing my head in respect before meeting his sightless gaze. Though his eyes were clouded, they held the weight of a man who could see more than most. "After my sons and the sons of Pandu assembled at the sacred plains of Kurukshetra, desiring to fight... what did they do?"

I could feel the question hang in the air, laden with the king’s anxiety. He was no fool. Despite the confidence he portrayed in his sons, there was a shadow in his heart—a doubt he could not shake. His sons, the mighty Kauravas, were determined to secure victory, but so were the sons of Pandu. And Kurukshetra, a place known throughout the Vedas as a land of divine favor, was not just any battlefield. It was a sacred ground, a place where the righteous would find strength.

Dhritarashtra’s doubt was rooted in more than just the prowess of the Pandavas; it was in the very nature of the land itself. He knew that Kurukshetra could sway the tide of battle, could stir the virtue deep within the hearts of those who fought for dharma, for righteousness. His sons were strong, but were they virtuous? Could they match the purity of the Pandavas in a place so sanctified?

He did not want peace. No, peace was a distant memory, a fading hope. What he wanted was assurance—a guarantee of victory. But in his heart, he knew that the favor of the gods could not be so easily won, especially not in a place like Kurukshetra. This was no ordinary battlefield; it was a crucible of fate, where only the purest would prevail.

I, Sanjaya, his trusted charioteer and advisor, had the gift to see what others could not. The battlefield of Kurukshetra lay before my mind’s eye, as vivid as if I were there in the flesh. I saw the armies gathered, the warriors eager to clash swords, the chariots ready to carve paths of destiny through the dust. I could see it all, and it was to me that Dhritarashtra turned, seeking the truth he feared to hear.

The king’s question was not just about the actions of his sons; it was a question about the very heart of destiny. What did they do? What path had they chosen? The echoes of that question would resound through the ages, for the answer would shape the fate of the world itself.

With a deep breath, I prepared to tell him what I saw—a tale of gods and men, of blood and valor, of a war that would shake the very foundations of dharma. But I knew, as did he, that the outcome was already written in the stars. Kurukshetra would reveal its truth, and in that truth, the fate of the Kuru dynasty would be sealed.