Fragments from a Shattered Image

Fragment 8

Pandu found the burden of his heart only increasing. The days passed in affairs of the state but the nights were nightmares. His wives were patient and understanding, neither uttering even a sound of reproach. He wished they would at least shed a few tears. But they kept smiling as if his impotence did not cause them any heartburn.

Their attitude only made him feel worse, not better. No one spoke a word, but he felt the crushing weight of their expectations. The bards sang his praises, the citizens extolled his greatness and all it served was to remind him of what an utter failure he was. His whole life seemed meaningless and futile.

He left on a Dig Vijaya. It was an escape, he knew, but he did not want to be in the palace anymore. He did not want to be in the proximity of the two women who had chosen to share their lives with him and to whom he had been unable to give anything. He did not want to wait for the inevitable question of when he was going to give an heir to his Kingdom. He did not want anyone to know that he was unable to do what even a mindless beast was able to.

So he went to war. And he vented all his anger, all his frustration in the battlefield. He had been ruthless, trampling his enemies to dust. He was not satisfied with defeating; he had to destroy.

For, in the battlefield, he could fool the world that he was a man.

He enjoyed the battlefields; he reveled in the trumpet of elephants, the neighing of horses, the clanging of swords, the twanging of bowstrings, the whoosh of the arrows and spears. He rejoiced at the smell of blood intermingled with that of sweat, metal and the excrements of men and beasts. He laughed at the carrion birds circling high above, waiting for the day’s battle to end.

At the end of one day’s battle, he came upon one of his soldiers, retching by the side of a tent. He was a young man and it was evident that it was his first campaign.

The young man was embarrassed by his weakness and had mumbled an apology. But Pandu was staring at where the soldier had emptied the contents of his stomach on to the grass.

He had done the same on his first campaign. He had never imagined that a battlefield could be a place of such brutality, where men turned into killing machines, where life had no sanctity, no value. His uncle had placed a hand on his shoulder and had told him. “Do not be ashamed of the horror you feel. It is not your weakness, but your strength. We are Kshatriyas and we cannot shun warfare. But the day we lose our compassion for those we kill, the day we stop being horrified at the brutality of our acts, that day we lose our humanity and Dharma as well.”

Pandu looked around him with sightless eyes. What had he been reduced to! What monster it was he had become!

He had come to escape, to prove himself a man by ruthlessly destroying his enemies. But all he had proved was that he had become a monster.

And he returned, smiling outwards, but chagrined inside. All the wealth he had conquered, he had placed at his brother’s feet. His brother who should have been King if he had not been born blind; his brother who would have been a better ruler, who would not have reveled in the fearful screams of his enemies. His brother who wanted to be King, who resented him for stealing his birthright.

The decision to leave the palace for the forest had been taken on that day. The day of his return. He told everyone he was going on a hunting trip to the forest with his wives. No one objected. After all, they had had so little time together.

His wives suspected something. Kunti it was who asked him, “Swami, why are we here?”

He drew a deep breath. “I am abdicating the throne Kunti,” he said calmly. “I am not worthy to be King. I am not going back,”

“And what reason would you give your people? Your elders?”

“I killed a couple of deer today,” he said. “I’m going to tell everyone that it was a sage and his wife sporting in the form of deers, and that they cursed me to fall dead if I ever touch a woman in desire again!”

“Convenient,” Kunti observed. “It resolves all your difficulties. But have you spared a thought to us? Your presence in our lives is all we demand. Is that too much to ask for?”

He looked at her. He had never loved her more than he did at that moment.

“If my presence is all you require,” he said. “Then you must accompany me. God knows there isn’t much else I can give you!”

“Don’t speak like that!” Madri’s hand was over his mouth. “We do not require anything more for our happiness!”

He nodded. He was powerless to resist their demand.