AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) (37 page)

“Perhaps.” Drona looked into the distance, at the waters of the shimmering river. A crow sat cawing outside.

“Dharma
will be restored,” Dhaumya said with finality.

“Hmm...”

“Of course, you will lead the Pandava army. Arjuna will be delighted to have you as Commander-in-Chief,” Dhaumya gushed, trying to keep his voice calm.

Drona finished chewing his
paan
and then brought his gaze back to the priest’s face. “What makes you think I will?”

“But, of course! You are the greatest of all Brahmin warriors and will naturally stand on the side of
dharma.”
Utter conviction rang in Dhaumya’s rather high-pitched voice.

“You are right. I will stand on the side of
dharma,”
Drona nodded, picking up another betel leaf from his box.

Dhaumya looked at the Guru. Something in his words made him pause. He ask hesitantly, “But you
will
act as Commander-in-Chief of the Pandava armies, won’t you?”

“I am a soldier of
dharma.
I will fight in the Kaurava army.” Drona pushed the swing gently. Its creaking as it swayed back and forth accentuated the shocked silence. A lizard clicked
tchak tchak tchak
from the thatched roof above. Drona watched Dhaumya’s expression turn from shock to disbelief to anger. He spat vermilion juice into the spittoon. Kripi, who had come in with a few pots of buttermilk, stood frozen in surprise.

“Guru, you are joking at my expense?” Dhaumya finally asked.

“I have never been more serious, Guru Dhaumya.”

“Are you mad? You are a Brahmin; you must support
dharma.”

“I am indeed a Brahmin and I know my
dharma.
I will do everything in my power to see the Pandavas defeated,” Drona stated.

“You will be alone on the Kaurava side. You will have to fight Bhishma,” Dhaumya said desperately, trying to suppress the rising panic and anger in his voice.

“So you think,” Drona answered calmly. “Bhishma will lead the Kaurava army. Another
paan,
Guru Dhaumya?”

“You are making a grave mistake, Drona. Your love for your son has made you blind. You will regret this all your life.”

“Perhaps...”

“You will fight against Arjuna?”

Drona hesitated an instant. Something caught in his throat. He said in a gruff voice, “If that is what the Lord ordains.”

“You are a fallen Brahmin.” Dhaumya’s lips trembled with anger. “You choose to fight against Krishna, Lord Vishnu himself?”

“It is my destiny.”

“You will rot in hell if you defy Krishna.”

“So be it.”

“You are worse than Kripa! You evil Brahmin...you Rakshasa! With the powers vested in me I hereby excommunicate you and your family from the Brahmin community,” Dhaumya proclaimed, his voice shaking with rage.

“Dhaumya, Brahminism is not a caste but a way of thinking. I had become one of the living dead, caught in meaningless rituals and superstitious beliefs. But I now know the
Parabrahmam;
I am twice born – a real
dwija.”
Drona closed his eyes. In his mind, Shiva danced in his divine glory.

“May you die an inglorious death,” Dhaumya cursed.

Kripi dropped the pots of buttermilk in shock. She rushed to her husband and hugged his feet. Drona sat in meditative silence, the swing creaking ominously as it moved back and forth. Dhaumya stood up and rushed away without another word.

“Do not cry,” Drona said to his sobbing wife. He knew she would be thinking of her son, imagining his gouged body and lifeless eyes. He knew he had never treated Kripi as his equal, nor had he ever expressed his love to Aswathama. He had always been the dutiful husband and stern father. Now he looked at his life’s faithful companion and said, “I always considered you my Lakshmi, massaging her Lord’s feet. But I should have seen you as my Shakti, my Parvati, my equal half, just as Shakti is to Lord Ardhanareeswara.”

Kripi’s eyes swam with unshed tears. She could not believe the words her husband had spoken, words she had never hoped to hear.

Drona shut his eyes. “It will be a shame if I survive this war.”

Kripi tried to protest but Drona placed a hand on her head. “This is my promise to you, wife, your son will not die in this war. Not before me.”

Kripi wept for the man she had more feared than loved. She felt guilty that she had worried more about her son’s life than her husband’s death.

Drona’s feet were wet with Kripi’s tears as she bent her head in reverence. Drona’s face remained serene, his mind still. There were no cries of love or war.

*****

46
   
T
HE
S
ONG
OF
G
OD

“YOU MEAN THE PANDAVAS SHOULD FORGIVE
the shaming of their wife and thirteen years of exile?” Krishna had been arguing with his brother for some time.

“The years of exile were the outcome of the Pandavas gambling away what they had. Duryodhana cannot be blamed for that,” Balarama stated unequivocally.

“Duryodhana?” Krishna chuckled. “So a strong man can do anything he pleases? Only by winning the war against Duryodhana can the Pandavas avenge themselves.”

“What makes you think the Pandavas will win?”

“Brother, if the Pandavas lose, they will go to the heaven of the brave. Future generations will consider them heroes who died in the cause of
dharma.
If they refuse to fight, the world will see them as cowards. What could be more shameful than that for Kshatriyas?”

“Krishna, thousands will die. The war will make so many women widows, so many children orphans. Can you even imagine the horrors of the famine that is sure to follow?” Tears of frustration and anger welled in Balarama’s eyes.

Exasperated, Krishna replied, “Brother, it is the
dharma
of Kshatriyas to fight, to kill evil men and protect the weak...”

“Is it
dharma
to kill?
Ahimsa
is the greatest
dharma.
All God’s creatures are divine; to take life is the greatest sin.”

“What is life but an illusion?”

“Life is an illusion only for you, Krishna.”

“The entire universe is an illusion –
maya.
Life is just a dream.”

“The pain of life is real, the joy of living is real, and the myriad emotions that make life worth living are all real.”

Krishna smiled, “Brother, the wise do not grieve for the dead, nor love the living. The soul is immortal and pervades the entire universe. He who thinks that his soul is killed when his body is slain, is ignorant. The soul has no birth or death; it is unborn, unchangeable and eternal. Only the body perishes. Just as we throw away old or soiled clothes, the soul discards the body.”

“Say that to a mother who has lost her child. Try telling that to one who has lost her beloved. What you say is merely an intellectual exercise, Krishna. It does not solve anything but acts as an excuse for violence.” Balarama turned away and walked to the window. He was weary of the world.

Krishna looked at Balarama’s bowed shoulders and for a moment pity welled in his heart. He loved his brother but he could not stop now. Too much was at stake. “What is born will die, brother. What dies
will
be reborn. Day gives way to night and night to day. It is the eternal cycle of life. Why mourn the unavoidable?”

Balarama shook his head in dismay but let his brother continue. He told himself not to be swayed by emotion.

“That is the path of
sankya,”
Krishna stated.

“Call it by any name you wish, but violence is wrong,” Balarama responded so softly that Krishna had to bend forward to hear.

“Unfortunately, war has now become a necessity. If we allow Duryodhana to rule, there will be an intermingling of castes,” said Krishna.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“It will result in the ruin of society as we know it. Lawlessness will ensue. No one will know what his
dharma
is.”

Balarama smiled. “Ruin of society, Krishna? Because a few priests will not have their way?”

“Brother, I have created four caste divisions according to the work people do. That is their
dharma.
As long as people know and follow their
dharma,
society will remain strong and stable. When there is
adharma
and people forget their caste and work, chaos ensues.”

“Those who benefit accept your system as a divine message. But what of those who are crushed by it? Hunger and disease know no caste or race. Why have no divine beings manifested to destroy these evils?”

“I have never sanctioned the crushing of one caste by another, brother. It happens as an aberration and will be dealt with later. A free society without rules is bound to self-destruct eventually. No creature is superior or inferior to another, but each has its own function in the natural order. So has caste.”

“It is a beautiful theory but impossible in practice. Prejudice is born when divisions exist.”

“Divisions are natural. The duties prescribed for Brahmins, Kshatriyas, Vaishyas and Shudras are all different. Brahmins are those who seek knowledge, they must be restrained and austere. Kshatriyas must be brave and firm and have the bearing of rulers. Agriculture, the tending of cattle, and trade, are the duties of the Vaishyas. For the Shudras, duty consists in servitude to the other three classes.”

“Krishna, there lies the problem.”

“Brother, every man who engages in his duty as ordained, attains
moksha.
He should perform his duty without thinking about the fruits of his actions. Doing one’s duty as prescribed incurs no sin.”

“Who decides what one’s duty is?”

“The scriptures are the authority to determine what one should do.”

“The scriptures are for man, not the other way round. Krishna, you speak of arbitrary divisions, unnatural ones.”

“Unnatural? Nature deludes men into thinking they should live passionately. If everyone follows what is natural, without self-restraint, ruin will result.”

The silence between the brothers was like an impenetrable fog. Finally, Krishna moved closer to Balarama. “For a yogi, pain and pleasure are alike. He is self-contained.”

“A yogi?”

“When a man gives up desire, he is freed from craving enjoyment. He has no affection or pride and thus attains peace of mind. He maintains equanimity in both pleasure and pain. That is the way of the yogi.”

“Krishna, you are giving an impossible prescription for an imaginary illness. It is natural for the mind to be restless, to seek, to strive, to achieve what it can.”

“A yogi knows this and anchors his mind on me. He learns to look at a Brahmin, a Chandala, a cow or a dog in the same way. A yogi is indifferent to the results of his actions. He performs
nishkama karma.”

“That is not possible, even in an entire lifetime of trying.”

“Brother, who said it happens in one lifetime? The person who strives thus will be born again, and will strive from the point he reached in his previous life. It takes many lives to meet the supreme goal of being one with me.”

Balarama smiled, remembering the naughty younger brother who had insisted on following him around. “And if he fails?”

“Those who fail are born again and again, as worms or beasts. They have to work their way up to human form and start striving again.”

“I do not understand, Krishna. A man does wrong
karma
and is then born as a beast, say a buffalo, but can we find anything more serene and detached than a water buffalo? It is indifferent to rain, sunshine, dirty water or dry grass. It is the picture of total contentment. Except for physical pain or pleasure, it does not worry about the results of its actions. Does that make the buffalo the supreme yogi? If it does, it should achieve
moksha
and not be reborn.” Balarama waited to see what his divine brother would say.

“You are arguing for the sake of argument,” Krishna said, a trace of irritation in his voice. “Brother, a man’s concern should be about his
karma,
not the fruits of his action. He should be devoted to his work without getting attached to it, and be equally impervious to success and failure.”

“Where can you find such a person, Krishna? How will I recognize someone with such a steady mind? How does such an unusual person sit, speak and move?” Balarama asked.

The sarcasm in Balarama’s words left Krishna unmoved. “He is called a
stithapranjna,
one whose mind has equanimity. He is not agitated amid calamities, does not crave pleasure, and is free of attachments, fear and wrath.”

“How is that possible, Krishna? We are but human and creatures of frailty.”

“Just as a tortoise withdraws its limbs into his shell, the yogi withdraws his senses from the objects of desire. Just as the tortoise thus becomes strong, a man also gains strength when he withdraws from desire and steadies his mind in contemplation.”

“Krishna, if you have reached that much-desired state, why does it matter to you whether Yudhishtra wins the war or Duryodhana? Why not keep your mind steady in contemplation instead?”