"I have lived a long life, but I have never lived a life without wanting it to end at some point, without being tired of the world's cruelty, injustice, and longing for rest."
— Haruki Murakami
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We sit in the tent huddled, patient and also a bit fearful of what the future holds for us. Uttara looks tired and her melancholy eyes sadder than ever. She sits on a stool in a corner of the tent, her arms laced over her knees. The poor child.
Every once in a while we receive news from the battlefield. Today is the ninth day of war. My husbands and sons returned battered, bruised and beaten up.
But it's not just them I think about. No, my thoughts drift to the women on the other side of this war. To their hearts, their pain. To the mothers, daughters, wives, and sisters of our enemies. What do they feel? What burden do they carry, watching their men march to the same blood-soaked fields? I wonder if they are as torn, divided between dharma and the love they hold for the men they call family
Mata Kunti gently stands from her place and walks towards me. She silently without a word sits next to me. She has looked older and weaker for the past few days and the white sparkle in her eye is long gone. Something like loss fills her eyes and I wonder how this feels from her eyes. Nearly all of our kuru family is against us, waging war. How does it feel?
To look at a scar on her son and realise that it might as well be the Pitamaha, her father in law who hurt him or that it might be Gaandhari's sons. I have noticed how close she was with her.
It must hurt her, doesn't it? Does she resent me for making my husbands wage war? But she has always loved me, in some part of her heart. Hasn't she? Her love for her sons is infinite and I know that better than anyone else. I hope war doesn't suck the last of our spirits like a blood hungry leech.
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I walk towards my sons and husbands with a balm in my hand to soothe their scars. I gently apply the balm over their scars and none of them wince. Not one. They all look blank today.
Suddenly Arjun looks up "We have to kill the Pitamaha , with him on their side we have no chance of winning." he says his voice silent.
"His strength may be incomparable but he has aged, life has tested him over and over and this is his last. He certainly accept death by noe. He is alive for the dharma he follows." Krishna says his voice full of emotion.
Krishna says. "Go ask him. He will tell you what is to be done to kill him. He certainly will." Krishna continues. For a minute a quiet silence passes at the irony of the situation. But then Krishna's gaze seems so right, so strong, so righteous. Krishna has never led us wrong and I'm certain he never will.
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When they go I also accompany them. We walk patiently and it seems our steps have slowed deliberately themselves. When we reach his tent the Pitamaha Bhishma is already out, his gaze clouded and uncertain. I see a flicker of recognition, of something like regret—but there is also acceptance. He is waiting. He knows what must be done. And I do not know how the words come out of our mouth, how we put the phrases together. When we ask him he does not flinch, does not wince, does not react at all.
He tells us, with a calmness that chills my bones, that if Shikhandhi stands before him, he will lay down his arms and accept death. No struggle. No fight.
We leave after getting the information and some polite ennui. But before I walk away he calls me "Daughter of Draupad, Forgive me." he says and for a minute I freeze not knowing how to react.
Forgiveness. Forgiveness, he asks. My husbands's grandfather, the man who stood by when they tried to rip me of my dignity, when they rolled the dice placing me, when I begged for someone to speak of dharma, to save me from the cruel fate. He asks for forgiveness.
"I do not seek forgiveness," I continue, my voice unwavering. "I do not seek vengeance, either anymore. What I seek is the end. The end of this war, of this madness that has torn us all apart. You speak of death like it is a release, but I know better. I know that the wounds of this war will not die with us. They will haunt the next generation, and the next. My sons, your great grandsons, they will bear the scars of our choices and that frightens me. "
"We all have our roles to play," he says, his voice a whisper now. "I have chosen mine, and I will face it. I only ask that you face yours."
"My role Pitamaha, the role of woman who was placed pawn in a game larger than herself. I have been playing my role from the moment I was thrust in the hands of this merciless fate. This very fate I hate with all my soul. Do not make me the villain when I was the victim." A slow pause follows.
You are forgiven, Pitamaha," I say quietly, the words leaving my mouth like a prayer, a promise to the past. "But forgiveness does not erase the past. And we must all face what is coming."
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I absolutely love these last few paras. She is such an inspiration.
Hope you guys liked this chapter! Please read, vote and comment.
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Draupadi
Historical Fiction--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dharma was the cloth I held closest. I was draped in dharma. No one could ever take that from me. No amount of pu...
