Authormonica

Tag: Duryodhan

  • Shakuni’s spew of anger on Bhishma

    Shakuni’s spew of anger on Bhishma

    Shakuni circled around Bhishma at a slow pace. Bhishma lay almost lifeless on his death bed of arrows. Without any tinge of mercy or pity in his heart, Shakuni grinned victoriously, while looking deep into Bhishma’s half-open eyes.

    “Your eyes look tired, Pitamaha. Let me help you visualise the war scenario. The Kuru flag is unable to furl in the winds. It’s drooping and may soon fall off the pole. And you know what that means? It means my vengeance will be soon avenged,” Shakuni taunted.

    “Why do you hate Hastinapur so much? Your sister is the queen of the empire. Your favourite nephew, Duryodhan, the King. You seem to be celebrating this defeat, why?”  Bhishma asked gruffly.

    Shakuni snorted with a laugh,

    “Do you recall, Bhishma, the days when you usurped lands, my land, Gandhar, under the pretext of establishing Dharma there? Manifesting your greed to spread the territories of Hastinapur. Do you recall how my family died of hunger in prison? No, you don’t. For you weren’t there to see it. Every single grain of rice that was served to my near and dear ones, they fed me. So I could live and fight back when the winds were favourable. The insult you inflicted on my loving sister, Gandhari. You left no choice for my father, but to hand over his beautiful daughter to a blind man. You used your power to win girls for the kings of Hastinapur. My loving sister’s life became miserable with darkness beside a handicapped man. And who is responsible for all this? You, Yes you Pitamaha!”

    Disturbed by the recall of past, Bhishma shook his head in distress. As if accepting the flaws of his decisions and actions, he pleaded,

    “If you see me as your culprit, why punish Hastinapur? You could have killed me or brought me down? Why such a major plotting against the entire Kuru clan?”

    Shakuni laughed,

    “Who are you and what are you if not Hastinapur? What identity you built for yourself other than this kingdom. Hastinapur is nothing but a personification of you. It is a manifestation of your thoughts and actions. Though you vowed not to sit on the throne, you didn’t allow anyone to grow on it. You ruled everyone’s life in Hastinapur. You were so blinded with love for it that you assumed it was solely upon you to see the empire flourish. To extend its boundaries you killed kings, you abducted girls to serve to Kuru handicapped heirs to carry forward their lineage. So my choice to bring down the Kuru vansh is reasonable, isn’t it? Because to bring about Hastinapur’s doom is to bring down the supreme Devavrata, the indelible Bhishma!”

    “And to do so, you used your sister and her off springs. Do you feel no guilt as a maternal uncle? For poisoning the tender heart of Duryodhan ever since his birth,” mocked Bhishma.

    “Guilty? It’s not guilt but pride that I feel. If history will write you as Bhishma for the oath of celibacy you practiced, it will write me as the most crafted and intelligent man. The personification of Dwapar Yug. You used your arms and manpower to uphold Hastinapur and justified your actions in the name of Dharma. I used my cult practices, my political craftsmanship, my devious planning to bring down who erred me and my loved ones. History will show that the weak can rise. If not arms and power, there is much driving force in the revenge, fueled by the mind. And as per the guilt factor? It’s my love for my sister that kept the fire kindled. Every time I saw her blindfold beside a blind man, my blood boiled and mind ignited with anger. As per Duryodhan, I do feel sorry. But I needed a pawn, and I chose him.”

    Wiping the tears from Bhishma’s eyes, Shakuni whispered,

    “Lie on these arrows, Pitamaha, and ponder – was it me who crafted this war or was it you, your blinded love for Hastinapur that led to it? Was it the repercussions of your actions based on excessive greed for Hastinapur’s prosperity?”

    Shakuni spewed his anger and walked away, and Bhishma was left experiencing more pain from arrows of guilt left by him than the arrows that lay under him.

  • Bhanumati shares her heart with Lakshmana (Daughter)

    Bhanumati shares her heart with Lakshmana (Daughter)

    From the squint of her eye, Bhanumati could see through Lakshmana’s heart. She bore much resemblance to her father, Duryodhan. Just like him, her gait spoke of her emotional state. Holding her wrist, and running a loving palm on her cheeks, she asked,

    “What thought is keeping my daughter so occupied that she doesn’t even see her mother in the chamber?”

    Lakshmana’s eyes ran over Bhanumati’s face. Devoid of adorations, pristine and white. She lowered her eyes, feeling the pang of the void that the death of her father had left in their heart.

    “Maa! Life has been very difficult for you and it still is.” empathized Lakshmana.

    Faking a smile Bhanumati asked,

    “What makes you say that?”

    “Maa, the world saw my father, Duryodhan, as a villain. The history of Hastinapur and Mahabharata writes him as an antagonist, adharmic. His death is grieved less and more joyed. It must have affected you, right?”

    “Yes, it did! It did for a while. It affected the queen of Hastinapur, not his wife. He was an Adharmi in the eyes of the moralists. He was a villain in the eyes of his enemies. He was an antagonist for those with whom his ideologies were in a clash. History writes him only through the ink of his political career, his defeat and his misdeeds.”

    “And how do you see him, mother?” Lakshmana prompted.

    “I see him through the eyes of a wife. He was the most loving man. A man with tough shoulders and a soft heart. When he had forcefully abducted me from the Swayambar, I was furious and hated him to the core. But when he politely bared his heart, expressing his love for me at first sight, when he had reasoned that my abduction was the only resort left to him and that he didn’t want to lose me to anyone, I was able to see his intentions and not judge his actions. He married me only after winning my love. He had wooed me for days, had won my trust and promised to be a one-woman man all life. And he did too. He was a gentleman, true to his love and soul.”

    “You call him a gentleman, even though he called Mata Draupadi names and mistreated her publicly in vulgar ways?”

    “Yes, I was angry, very angry. I had lashed at him for doing this to a woman. My blood had boiled. But he had sternly reasoned that it was a political move, an act of vengeance against her mocking and bullying him, calling him a blind man’s son. A repercussion Draupadi faced for using her tongue loosely.”

    Bhanumati continued,

    “Lakshmana, however, the history might portray him, but to me, his wife, he will always be a hero, the victorious king of my heart. Although the world saw him as an egoist, I knew that his ego was a defense against the unfair world. Also, your father was merely a pawn in the hands of his maternal uncle Shakuni, who harbored grievances against Hastinapur and Pitamaha Bhishma and used your father to seek his revenge.”

    “Didn’t his short temper or reactive nature ever scare you and keep you edgy?” intrigued Lakshmana.

    “Initially it did. When I saw him behave like that with others, it feared me. But as years passed, I realized my fears were irrelevant. For he was never that to me or to the people he loved. I recall this incident. Once he was away at war for a few days. He had asked Karan to keep me company and take care of me. I and Karna were lost in playing a game of dice, I was on the losing side. So I was irritated and got up to leave for quits. But Karan grabbed my wrist to stop, asking to complete the game. In doing so my long pearl necklace, entangled in his hand and it broke, scattering the beads all over. At that instant, your father entered. I and Karna were taken aback. We felt Duryodhan may misunderstand and misjudge us. But to our surprise, he picked up all the pearls and joked, “Should I bead them too?” after that incident, my fears were gone. I had a glimpse of his heart that was filled with faith for his wife and his friend.”

    Seeing her father through the eyes of her mother, Lakshmana realized that a man can never be painted in just black or white, that there were reasons to justify his father’s actions. She hugged her mother tight. Her chest bloated with pride for her father. She walked out of her mother’s chamber with a light heart, as silent tears of love trickled down Bhanumati’s eye.