‘I had come to protect, but ended up killing’

A twig cracked and I knew death had found its moment of life. I didn’t need to turn, didn’t need to see. Or sense. My body knew who it was. From the depths of my being rose the foreboding of battle — possibly my final.

If you haven’t felt the blade of a sword slash through your body, you won’t relate to this knowledge. If you haven’t rejoiced in the flight of an arrow that stops only after it has embedded itself in your thigh, you won’t know the joy bloodlust brings. If you haven’t killed with your bare hands, you won’t understand compassion.

Only a Kshatriya knows the celebration that the dharm of violence places on us. Vishnu knew. Behind me, I could feel his eyes boring into me. Soon his spears and knives would follow.

This last battle was going to be my greatest. I would fight it at my weakest. Or maybe at my highest. The Kshatriya in me was dying. I was leaving that deadly force behind, with all memories of slashing, cutting, jabbing, breaking, crushing. I was readying myself for the next battle, this time within myself. But my body was exhausted. My mind was not ready for yet another bout of killing. This was no time for that twig to crack.

Wishes seemed to avoid my company. They disliked my constant companion—death. Right now, it took the form of my biggest enemy towering behind me. Powerful, confident, fresh. Armed with not just tools of death but with a burning desire to kill. He was accompanied by trained soldiers, extensions of his weapons, all ready to die for him. I didn’t need to turn to see the sneer on his face. Warriors speak a language that only warriors understand. Vishnu spoke to me silently, telling me that my time was up.

Moments ago I had completed what I thought was my last assignment for the kingdom. The Pandavs had escaped and were away from the clutches of conspiracy hatched in Hastinapur.

Exhausted after the killings, I stood alone, the warmth of Janaki’s final warrior-kiss still lingering on my lips, passion of her sinewy arms still holding me tightly.

The mountains gave the gentle breeze a touch of cold — winter was on its way. The never-stopping music of the Ganga flowed behind in a melody it had sung for ages. I was in the middle of Varanavat’s dark forests, with shades of orange flashing through, as the flames we had ignited rose to touch the skies.

Purochan’s palace of lak was now a collapsing ball of fire. Next to the palace lay Kedar’s ashram of peace. And Urvashi

The cracking of the twig brought me back to the present. I wasn’t ready for this battle but it was one I had to fight. It was like a deep, unquenched longing of nature, almost preventing the changes within from taking shape. Like the last note of a long recital. A note that delivers a fitting climax, bringing permanent peace to the heart. A note that completes the raag. Ends it all.

Like death itself. Through the cracked twig, Yam was playing that note tonight.

After sending the Pandavs to safety, I had returned to the forest carrying an unfamiliar burden of an inner transformation. Something within me was letting the warrior I had been for more than six decades go.

My spears suddenly felt heavy. I didn’t need them anymore. The knives around my belt began to hurt. I loosened it, looking for a safe place to hang them until someone from Kedar’s ashram could collect it. There was nothing to fear anymore. All enemies were dead.

I was too weak to carry anything but the burden of the dying Urvashi. I knew she was safe; that Kedar would save her. We were entwined by destiny. But still, urgency pushed me. What if

The night acquired a darker shade because of the forest, but the small darts of light that the burning palace exuded scraped my eyes. The flames lit up the sky as though the sun god Surya had descended on this wretched earth. But the light was still tolerable for my weak eyes. Two shades more and I would wince.

I had drifted through the thick forest, found a group of entwined branches and placed my spears between them. Then I had carefully tied my belt of knives around the spears. It was almost like worshipping, bidding a final goodbye to my companions of decades. The weapons felt heavy or perhaps it was just the heaviness in my heart. I was tired. But I felt free, relieved. No more fighting. No more killing. No more hiding. And no more tunnels.

My being was overflowing with a love I had never experienced before. There was nobody — not Urvashi, not my children. There was no idea — not of the kingdom nor of dharm. There was no companion — not the spears, not even death. There was just love. A new confidence told me all was where it should be.

The movement had begun. I was leaving Kshatriyahood behind. A new life awaited me. There was sweetness around me. It seemed I was merging into nothingness. Or everything was merging into me. Differences in matter were blurring.

I had begun to walk through the forest. What sort of a Brahmin would I be A rishi of knowledge A warrior rishi A reciter of Veds Would I follow Kedar I laughed at my own audacity, stifling further thoughts.

Or was my destiny to serve Ved Vyas as he sprinkled the knowledge of the Ved around the Ganga and set up a stream of institutions around the holy river, making each rishi a repository of knowledge, each pupil a reciter of mantras

A whole new world was opening out before me before us. Urvashi was back and her love pulled me deeper. We were celestial travellers and didn’t even know it. I needed to hold back time.

I had watched from the river and the twisting forest trail the bright red-yellow glow of the burning palace. Above me were the first signs of Ushas, but the sun was late. Purochan’s palace of lak had taken charge and turned the darkness of the night outside the forest into light.

Sounds of the birds were

There were no sounds. It was quiet. Too quiet. Everything was still. Too still. My instincts got there before my mind could reach them. The threat of danger wrapped itself around me. But there was no reaction within. What was going on Where were the birds

The crack of the twig cleared the cobwebs.

That crack revealed a truth I had known all along. I could not die without fighting this preordained battle. For the first time in my life, I was afraid. Not because of death. I had embraced it, courted it so many times that even Yam would have lost count. My body was of no consequence anymore. It had survived many arrows, spears, axes.

My fear rose from a strange, unknown part of me, somewhere near a point that my victories had smothered — survival. For the first time in my life I wanted to live. I needed to live. For Urvashi. For creation. For my self. How things change.

I had come to Varanavat to die. But fate cheated me of that victory. There was no exit, no light in my tunnels. Just when I thought the flame in my soul, gasping for breath under the layers of guilt would finally be extinguished and bring me the peace I had sought for lifetimes, came this strange longing, fresh whiff of aspiration, a never-before-experienced desire to live.

I had come to protect. But ended up killing. My days of soldiering were long gone, though memories of violence still lived within me, lingered like gangrene, eating my vitals. My task was to take care of a young woman and her five sons, two of them still carrying their last milk teeth, and take them to safety. It was to be a quiet, bloodless exit. It wasn’t.

I came to dig. But when I surfaced, it was from complex tunnels that criss-crossed within me, not very different from those I had built. And when the bloodbath came, it was poetic catharsis.

I had come to lose myself. But in a fire that still ignited Varanavat for a krosh or two, maybe more, I discovered my self. As death danced to the slashes and rumbles of weapons, I had sent valiant bodies to the great beyond. In the process of delivering my physical dharm, something shifted deep within me. I finally longed to live for a purpose higher than any other I had pursued.

The sound of that cracked twig changed things. The luxury of exhaustion was gone. Still weak, I tried to gather my scattered parts. I had to kill Vishnu.

It was too much of a risk to leave him and his soldiers alive. But the love in me was flowing too fast, too deep, transforming all my past into a fluid future, where neither weapons nor their wielders existed.

If I didn’t kill Vishnu now, I would be wasting another lifetime. Kedar had pushed the realization. The movement of consciousness had begun. I could not betray my destiny any longer.

For the future ahead, my past had to be erased. I may be weak. Possibly on another plane. Perhaps death would finally grant me the release I had been seeking. But I didn’t want to die now. I had to face my fear.

The crack of the twig told me that the time to think was long gone. I had to act. Kill or be killed. There was only one recourse — ride my instincts, honed over lifetimes. I fought the new movement within. I felt my body harden, my back straighten. Slowly, I turned.