Abhimanyu

(Rendered by the author from his Kannada Poem)

The news that Abhimanyu had been slain
Spread all along the battle-front and filled
Pandava hearts with grief. A messenger
Sped to the camp behind the fighting lines
Where ladies of the royal households stayed
And, unwillingly and in halting words,
Conveyed it to them. Oh, alack the day!
Who can describe, or in what words, the grief
That over-powered wife and mother? Who
can bear to think of that resounding wail
And outcry. Sashirekha, wedded wife
Of the young prince, now widowed, in ecstacy
Of sorrow, dropped to earth. Subhadra, mother,
Crying a cry that seemed to break the welkin
Rolled on the ground. "My son, my darling child,
And have I lost you? and how shall I live
Without you? Why, oh, why did you insist
And go to battle? Could you not have proved
That you were such a hero without dying?
Would not the world have praised you? Was there not
A million of men to fight instead?
Oh son, why did you from my womb take birth
If it were just to die so young and cast
This helpless woman on a sea of sorrow?
Why shall I, now that you have left me, bear
This life on earth? Is Krishna uncle to you?
Father, the great Arjuna? and valorous
Bheema, your father’s elder brother own?
And are they younger uncles, Nakula.
And Sahadeva, of whose prowess all
The world speaks in such praise? When you were little
All of them took you in their hands and kissed you
And as you grew played with you" How could they,
Without revulsion, find it in their hearts
To let you go to battle, there to die,
And they themselves, arms folded, stay behind?
If these could thus abandon you what bond
Of blood or kin or love is there on which.
Men may rely? My boy, my child, those valiant
And mighty men who led our hordes to battle,
Could not a single one of them break through
The murderous formation that closed round
A boy so young? How could they leave their prince
Unhelped, to die?–a young one who could live,
If left to live, of days at least some twenty
Thousand, and let him die and live themselves?
What valour strange was this that dreaded death
Or was it but a wisdom years had brought?
Yudhishthira, renowned for still refusing
To bear what is unseemly, did he too
Consent to let you go? Did he not say
‘The boy is far too young.’ ‘I’d rather not
Send out my handsome nephew.’ ‘Tis too early.’
Why did not Krishna think of me and save
His sister’s son? The dream of Arjuna,
That you should in your fame for valour be
His peer, has now become a dream indeed.
Alas, what fruit is this of what great crime
Of mine which blackened some past life? Woe! Woe!"
As thus the mother cried aloud and moaned
In grief unbearable, to soothe her came
Her elder brother whom one half the world,
Revered as god descended to the earth,
At sight of him, grief in the mother’s heart
Grew four-fold and again she wailed and cried
And fell upon his feet and begged of him
To give her her son, "You surely knew
He was too young, you knew I loved him so.
Why did you leave him to be slain? You might
Forget what else so ever but not that he
Was your own sister’s son. How could you leave him
Thus to be slain, a mere boy as if
He were no more than just a stranger to you?
Krishna took Subhadra up and looked
With eyes, from which the light had gone, upon her–
Yet in those eyes was pity infinite–
And said in accents calm yet sad: "My sister,
A man is sent to battle-field because
He is a hero; not for that he is
Related thus or thus to them who lead.
You surely know this just as well as I.
Those who would win the good should risk such loss
In life on earth. We have to bear this grief:
Both you and I. What if he died so young?
So young he won a fame that comes to few
In greater length of life. Your son died great.
What is the thing achieved if one should live
For years on top of years without a name
Like piling grass in bundle upon bundle
Until a stack is made to which at last
A spark of fire is set to burn it down
On the cremation ground? Of such a life
Each day is worth no more than wisp of straw,
Empty and of no value. What does man
Gain by collecting days innumerable
To throw into the jaws of death? Of them
Not one remains and all is wiped away.
No life is such a life. Oh sister mine,
Know you not that your son by fame for valour
Fills the four quarters of the world? Are you not
Proud that you bore the hero whom all men
Praise as so worthy? What can a mother have
More than the privilege that her son grow great?
Your son, oh sister, put the last fine touch
With his puissance on the noble picture
Limned by the lives of all the Pandavas,
And like the crescent moon that shines atop
The mount of Kailas and completes it, he,
In fame that even to their fame adds beauty,
Stands in eternal glory. Think of it
And learn to withstand grief."
While thus he spoke
Subhadra, stormed by gusts of memory
Of what her son had said or how he looked
Or stood, was tossed as if her heart would break,
Her pain soared in a peak without control,
And suddenly she fainted and fell down
On Krishna’s feet unconscious. Krishna sat
Upon the ground there where his sister fell
And took her head on to his lap as in
The days of old when he was small and she
Was smaller still. Alas, he thought, that this,
My sister, should have come on grief so hard
To endure. She cannot bear this pain and be
Sound in her mind unless the root of it,
The thought of self undue that makes excess
Alike of joy and sorrow, be removed.
No words of mine by play upon the ear
Can bring peace in her being. So he led
Her soul along a path in realms of dream
And thus she dreamt.
She was again a young
And growing girl and wandered fancy-free
In the gardens round Dwaraka, her joy of being
Tinting each moment of the live-long day
Golden with hope of what should come. Spring came
Bringing soft sprout and tender leaf and flower
To tree and creeper and eke to maiden hearts;
And parrots flew across blue bits of sky
Garlanding them; and pairs of turtle cooed
In love; and keen the cuckoo raised its note.
And that same spring brought Arjuna to her,
Hero disguised in garb of ascetics,
Like Winter’s moon in mist. All easily
He won her love and threw himself and her
Upon a sea of joy and stretched his arms
And murmured, "Come my love": and she, too happy
Could she but do his wish, gave up herself
And closed in love embrace and floated out
In depths of happiness immeasurable,
Eyes shut. Some moments passed and then she wished
To look upon her lover and oped her eyes
And he who held her was not Arjuna
But Abhimanyu. Startled, she released
Herself from that embrace and forthwith lost
the thought of what had occurred, and again
Hied on another dream. And now she was
Proud mother of her newly-born son
Named Abhimanyu by his uncles all,
In hope and pride that he would make their line
Illustrious for prowess. She held him close
And looked upon his lips and eyes and curls
With eyes that knew not how to cease and whelmed him
With kisses and again she pressed him hard
Against her breast and with that joy full filled
Her heart and mind and soul; and that she might
Be undisturbed in it she closed her eyes
And drank it in her being. When she had
Sunk deep in that deep happiness she would
look on the child again and oped her eyes.
It seemed to her then that he who lay so little
Within her arms against her breast was not
Child Abhimanyu but Arjuna’s self
And thus the wonder child herseemed to speak:
"My beloved, know you not that for the war
Of Bharata we need two Arjunas,
One Arjuna to live and one to die?
And I whom you have borne am one, the other
Is he whom Kunti bore." Again Subhadra
Started, and lost the thread of thought again,
And on again she wandered in her dream.
Along a path, she felt, not known to her
She walked upon a time and from afar
Descried three figures Coming up to her.
She looked and saw that they were Arjuna,
Krishna and Abhimanyu. Eagerly
She walked to them and all three looked on her
But did not know her. Wondering she moved
Close to them thinking: Well, how mad I was
To think my son was dead. He’s hale and strong.
When with this thought she tried to touch the sob.
The figure changed and seemed like Arjuna
And what had borne the shape of Arjuna
Took Abhimanyu’s shape. Subhadra tried
To touch this Abhimanyu and he changed
And wore the form of Krishna and the one
That had been Krishna in that moment seemed
To be her Abhimanyu. So the mother
Tried oft to touch her son and found that form
To change and change and change, each of the three
That stood before her taking on the shape
Of Abhimanyu, Arjuna or Krishna
And still eluding grasp; till, tired of trying
And puzzled deep at heart, she wished to speak
To Krishna asking what this thing could mean
And fell upon his feet and cried: "Help brother."
Then ceased her roaming in the realms of dreams
And she awoke to find him tending her
His eyes so full of pity. What matters it
If when we call on God we are awake
Or in a dream? He hears either cry
And stretches out His arms of help and saves.
Subhadra, calmer now, lay with her head,
A child again, on her great brother’s lap;
And he, in tone of deep concern yet calm,
Said: "Sister, you were troubled in your dream."
Her strength depleted by overwhelming grief,
Subhadra could not part her lips in speech
And lying motionless just where she was
She looked on Krishna and allowed her mind
To dwell upon him. Then she in her heart
Saw that in truth this being whom she knew
As brother Krishna was all other selves;
And in great sadness said: "Krishna, oh brother,
What was the need for all this? When a girl
You gave me dolls and changed them as you willed
And I a girl cared not; is later life
Of no more moment than is childhood’s sport
And is it right to give a son and take him
At will as if a doll?" Her words were few
And weak like drops of a remainder shower
That might follow a storm; Krishna was moved
Deeply as if to weep himself but withstood
The poignancy of his grief. As if
The tears suppressed had turned to dark wry smile,
He smiled a cheerless smile in agony
And said: "Oh sister, if the mass of men
Who live in ignorance said what you say
I should not wonder. But when it is you
That speak so or when it is Arjuna
That turns his face from the embattled front,
From pity for his kinsmen and his friends,
It is then I know not what to think of it.
You care for two out of this host. Your husband
Cares for another two. And he, my brother
Bala, two others, and thus all for whom
I care, for others still, and still those others
For still two others. If all these should live
Because I love them or those whom I love
Would have them live, will anyone be left
To fight for righteousness, the general good?
There could be no such thing as this great war
And unstrung bows would clutter up the ground
And good and bad live as each wills and cares
And never finger raised to put down evil.
I love you sister; I love Arjuna;
I love the other Pandavas; I loved
Your son, my nephew; and believe me, dear,
The sons of queen Gandhari are to me
All worthy pity; and each single one
Of these long serried ranks is dear to me.
Whom shall I keep alive, whom leave to die?
And if I shall not bear the thought that any
Should die at all where will righteousness stand?"
"Alas" Subhadra sighed and said: "My brother,
Whose is the fault and whom is it you kill?"
Krishna replied: "You know Subhadra how
The truth is. All this world is but a life
Not many or a myriad lives. One life
Includes the life of all of us. And when,
In that one life, a limb errs there is pain
Over all the limbs, even those that not offend;
And when for righteousness men have to fight
And at deep need, even the best of men
Should die for it. My sister, if a house
Should be on fire would we not pour on it,
To save it, all the water we can get?
The water kept for drinking, aye, the little
In those small cups that we have used in worship
And consecrated, no less than that store,
For we would save the house? The right should live
If living should be worthy; and, that it may,
The nephew of the Generalissimo
May have to die as does the meanest soldier.
This age is running, sister, to its end.
The sense of right and wrong no longer lives
Within men’s hearts, and low and evil thought
And impulse are parading brazenly,
Like dark malignant spirits of the night
Walking in light of day; and doubt and wonder
If what is right is worthwhile have become
Common, and all the law of decent living
Is abrogated quite. We have to stem
The onward march of these battalions
Of darkness and, to do this, should give up
Some goodness from our lives, some conduct good,
Some lives that we would rather keep; to vanquish
What is malignant and infernal, man
Should make a sacrifice of things that he
Holds dear and even sacred. This, our race,
Has laid up tons of evil and should now
Work out that evil by this suffering.
The debt needs must be paid. The better life
Will pay it quicker. Grieve not, sister mine,
That Abhimanyu died. Remember rather
That Arjuna is left. I saw the two
Fighting the mighty men opposed to them
And, sister, truly as I looked on them
I wondered if for doing doughty deeds
In this great war, my brother Arjuna
Had taken on two bodies. For the two,
Father and son, did each the other excel.
You bore that son that Arjuna might live.
Believe me, Arjuna is truly he
The son you think you have lost. My nephew is
And has not ceased to be. He is in me
In whom are all the lives that ever were
And are and will be to the end of time."
So spoke the brother and the sister heard
The wisdom spoken in those accents sad
Yet calm, and felt the truth of them a little.
But could not quite accept, remembering
The son that had been and no longer was
Present to earthly eyes. Yet in her heart
She glimpsed that Krishna whom the gods worshipped
Was sole refuge in sorrow as in joy
For those who live, and that the son who died
Lived in him yet; and in this thought lay still
Upon that lap on which the universe
Plays while it lives and dying finds its peace.