“Om Namah Shivay.”
The air sizzled with oxygen. Clouds began to break.
“Om Namah Shivay.”
Light of thousands suns streamed through cracks of the sky, bathing the world in celestial luminosity.
“Om Namah Shivay.”
A crackling ricocheted across the universe. A heart-beat later, everything vanished as if imbibed by some unfathomable force. Where snow played with the wind at the edge of the cliff few moments before, there now stood a figure of divinity. Thick matted hair-locks holding the weight of the moon, blue throat –venom of the underworld swirling inside. “Open your eyes.”
The man sitting in a snowy cavern felt a warmth in him. His muscles stiffened by the penance relieved. The icy stalactites began to melt, water dripping. He finally opened his eyes. “My lord.”
“Your penance pleased me,” said the Lord of the Lords.
The man staggered out of the cavern and dropped on his knees, then prostrated. “My Lord, my life is now content.”
The God of Gods smiled. “I bless you.”
Barbarik put three arrows in his quiver then slung it over torso. He picked up the bow. The moment he touched the wood of it, a tempest of energy surged through his veins, like a billowing fire.
“You’ve made up your mind,” Maurvi’s concern stopped him.
“Yes, Ma.” Barbarik turned. “The greatest battle of all time is about to begin. And if I don’t participate in it, history will brand your son as a coward.”
“Not all the time courage means fighting, Barbarik,” Maurvi said. “The true strength of Kshatriya lies in avoidance of unsheathing his sword.”
“But Maa,” Barbarik walked up to his mother. “Father is going to fight in the battle. How can I stay here?”
Maurvi’s tore her gaze away.
Barbarik took her hands in his. “Maa, a true Kshatriya must fight for righteousness, isn’t it?”
Still not looking at her son, Ghatokacha’s wife nodded.
“And this is not just a war for throne of Hastinapur, it is a war for righteousness. Tell me, Maa, how can I not fight?”
A tear rolled over Maurvi’s cheek and she shut her eyes. For a long moment, the only sound was the wind sighing through the windows. Then the daughter of Muru opened her eyes. “Forgive me, my son. For a moment, my motherhood blinded me from your duties. You must go and help your father.”
Barbarik hesitated, stepping back. His hands slipped away, leaving his mother’s hands in air.
“What troubles you, my son?”
“I can’t promise you that I’ll be fighting along the side of father.”
Shock paled Maurvi’s face. “You can’t fight for Kauravas!”
“I didn’t say that either, Maa,” Barbarik confessed. “I haven’t chosen any sides yet.”
Maurvi’s concern deepened. “Then whose side you are thinking to fight?”
Barbarik raised his head, eyes meeting with her mother’s. “A Kshatriya always protects the ones who cannot protect themselves. I’ll fight for the side of weaker ones.”
Maurvi smiled. If the news she heard were true, then Pandava’s allied armies were outnumbered with Kauravas’s, making them the weaker ones in terms of military strength. Her worries dissipated as she made a logical conclusion. Her son, Barbarik was going to fight for Pandavas, along with his father’s and his grandfather’s sides. “Be victorious, son.”
“I wish Barbarik was here,” Ghatokacha’s said.
“And what made you say that, my dear?” Krishna’s eyes ran from corner to corner of the map of Kurukshetra lying on the sturdy wooden table. He tapped his fingers on the flute, which was sandwiched between the tabletop and his hand.
“I know what worries you,” the bald-giant said, crossing his muscular arms.
“Many things worry me,” Krishna smiled. “I am wondering about the worry of mine that made you worried.”
“You wanted to know how long can this war last, don’t you?”
For a fraction of moment, the shine in Krishna’s eyes wavered, like a twinkling star. “I was under impression that half-breeds were not possessing telepathic powers.”
Ghatokacha frowned.
“Just toying with you,” Krishna said, drawing his attention back to the map. “There are men with divine powers in both sides, Ghatokacha. The longer the war goes, the more casualties we suffer. Bhisma is capable of finishing this war alone in mere twenty days, Dronacharya in twenty-five days. Karna can take up to twenty-four days while Arjun can end it in twenty-eight days. Such titans are going to clash. I need to know the time period. It affects the whole strategy. It affects the victory itself.”
Ghatokacha laughed. “I don’t mean disrespect to anyone, Commander of Dwarka, but you are talking about days when the war can be concluded in a minute.”
Krishna turned his head, the peacock-feather attached to his ostentatious helm waved. “Who are you talking about?”
Ghatokacha smiled. “I mentioned earlier. I wish Barbarik was here.”
Barbarik slumped under the pipal tree. The sun seemed to be ferocious in the sky for some reasons. As he wiped away the film of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, he noticed a figure approaching. As the man reached under the shade of the tree, Barbarik noticed his simple clothing and radiant face. He knew the man was a Brahmin.
“As a well pulls a thirsty,” Brahmin said, “what pulls you toward Kurukshetra?”
Barbarik was stunned. He rose on his feet, quiver on his back rattled against the back of his breastplate. “It’s not a well that attracts a thirsty, but it is his own desperation to quench the thirst. It’s not Kurukshetra that pulls me, but it’s my duty to fight for righteousness which draws me toward it.”
Brahmin acknowledged the answer with a smile. “Wise words. Now satiate my curiosity with your introduction.”
Barbarik nodded. “I’m Barbarik, son of Ghatokacha, grandson of Bhima.”
Brahim bowed his head in respect. “You graces me with your presence.”
Barbarik was impressed with such humbleness. “I’m just a warrior.”
Brahim shook his head. “I heard all those stories about you, about your strength. However…” His words got carried away with hot-wind.
“Do not hesitate,” Barbarik offered. “Do say further.”
“Pardon me,” Brahmin said, down-casting his eyes. “I heard that you were blessed by Mahadeva and Agni Deva.”
“Indeed, I carry their blessings along with me.” Barbarik then displayed his bow and a quiver of three arrows.
Brahmin scratched his chin. “I don’t understand. How can you fight a war with just three arrows?”
Barbarik smiled. “I can finish the war in a minute with these three arrows.”
Brahmin stifled his laugh, but the curve of his lips somehow smiled. “You are just making a jest.”
“I am not.”
“Then I need to see a demonstration if you don’t mind.”
Barbarik agreed to display the prowess of his blessed arrows. He asked Brahmin to choose a target. Brahmin searched for something. Then he plucked out several leaves of the Pipal from the nearby branch. He placed them at several spots under the shade of the tree.
Barbarik pulled out three arrows from his quiver and offered him. Brahim, first flinching, then took them. They felt heavier than the usual ones.
“The first one,” Barbarik said, taking one of the arrows, “marks things that I want to destroy. The second arrow marks the things that I want to save. The final arrow, it destroys everything either I had marked by the first arrow or leaves the ones which I had marked with the second one.”
Brahmin grasped his every words. “Unless I witness it, there will always remain a room for doubts.”
Smiling, Barbarik closed his eyes and began meditating, a chant on his lips. While he was channeling the sufficient energy, Brahmin stepped upon one of the targeted leaves.
There was a twang in the air as the bowstring snapped. Clouds of dust trailed as the arrow whizzed past all the leaves, marking them and then it stopped, hovering above the leg of the Brahmin.
“Please step aside,” Barbarik said. “The last leaf is under your foot.”
Brahmin stepped aside and the arrow hit the crushed leaf, vanishing into the air. Stunned, Brahmin looked at the scattered leaves. They were all glowing as if they were painted with stars. A realization dawned upon him, about the true potential of the arrows. “Whose side on you?”
Barbarik was taken aback by the question.
“I asked,” Brahmin said. “Whose side on you? Kauravas or Pandavas?”
“I’ll fight beside the weaker side.”
Brahmin pondered for a moment. The two arrows in his hand disappeared and all of three re-appeared in the quiver. The glittering marks on the leaves dimmed, then vanished. “Whichever side you take; the opposite force will become the weaker one.”
Barbarik remained silent.
“If you are thinking that you’ll switch sides, then you’ll eventually destroy everyone. There will be no victors, there will be no losers. Only corpses and you. The intent of this war would become invalid.”
Barbarik looked into those wise eyes. “I cannot turn away from my duty. And I cannot turn away from my words.”
“You must choose a side.”
“I cannot,” Barbarik said. “I am a Kshatriya. Protecting the weak is my prime duty.”
“Often we come across a situation in our life where our principles, our beliefs construct a paradox for us,” Brahmin said.
What could Barbarik do? He could not simply ignore the greatest battle of all time. He sought wisdom from Brahmin.
“Sacrifice.”
Barbarik’s eyes widened. “Is that the solution?”
“A sacrifice must be made for the field of Kurukshetra,” Brahmin said with a solemn voice. “The soil of the battleground must be soaked with the blood of the greatest warrior. And I do not see any match for yours. I ask you to sacrifice yourself. The ritual must be followed.”
Barbarik’s guts twisted. “Who are you?”
Brahmin kept his hand on the warrior’s forehead and Barbarik found himself floating in the space. Clusters of stars began to coalesce in front of him, forming a ginormous figure.
“My life is now fully content,” Barbarik said. “I bow to the Supreme God.”
Lord Krishna in his cosmic form looked at the floating body. “You do realize the consequences of your participation in the war, don’t you?”
“I do. Now, I am ready to sacrifice myself, however, I ask you for a condition. Make me witness this greatest war of righteousness.”
“I bless you.”
The war of Mahabharata concluded on the one-hundred-and-eighth day. Kauravas were defeated and Pandavas became victorious with a great price. It was after the war; a debate broke out between the Pandavas for who was the mightiest in the battle.
“We cannot judge among ourselves for the greatest among us,” said Yudhistir. “Only the one who must have watched the whole battle can say that.”
“And who that can be?” asked Bhima.
All eyes turned toward Krishna. He smiled. “There is one who was watching upon us.”
Krishna led them to a hilltop nearby the battlefield. Stationed at the edge of the cliff, overlooking Kurukshetra was the sacrificed head of Barbarik.
When Pandavas presented their question, Barbarik smiled. “Who do you think is the hero of Mahabharata?”
“It is me,” said Bhima, placing his might mace nearby. “For I killed Duryodhana.”
“It is me,” said Arjuna, resting his bow and quiver, “for I rained havoc on the battlefield.”
Nakul and Sahadev stepped ahead. “It is us for we slaughtered and commanded the army.”
Finally, Yudhistir spoke. “It is me for I took decisions in this conflicting times with righteousness.”
Barbarik looked at them and said, “Bhima, you would not have defeated Duryodhana if Krishna hadn’t revealed his weakness to you.”
Bhima fell silent.
“Arjun,” Barbarika said, “when you lost faith, when you were stepping back, Krishna cleared your head, showing you what must be done is mandatory when it comes for righteousness.”
Arjuna stepped back.
“Yudhistir,” Barbarika looked at the eldest of Pandavas. “Who do you turn for counsel when you face a dilemma in judgement?”
Yudhistir, with bowed head, silently took a step backward.
“Nakul, Sahadev,” Barbarik acknowledged them. “Your prowess was unmatched on the battlefield, but were you the one who formulated the military strategy of your armies?”
They both shook their heads, ashamed.
Barbarik looked at Krishna. “Forgive me, my lord, for I don’t have a body to bow before the true hero of this battle.”
Krishna smiled, his form radiating the light of the universe. “You will be remembered as the greatest Kshatriya warrior for eternity, Barbarik. I bless you.”
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