Bhimsen: The Epilogue
They stood on top of a cliff and looked down at an ocean turned dark and deadly dangerous.
Like a glutton who even after a full meal picks at his plate in the hope of finding some overlooked morsel, the ocean that had swallowed an entire kingdom, castle and all, continued to throw up waves that combed the land, seeking odds and ends to devour.
They saw a dead bull lying where the waves had thrown it against a tree, breaking its back instantly; over there an overturned chariot, its shaft stuck deep into the mud; elsewhere, oddly, an earthen pot in pristine condition, its perfection an incongruous element of normalcy against the surrounding chaos.
They observed another oddity: in the midst of the ocean’s turbulence one spot alone seemed calm, the waters still. That, they guessed, marked where the towering castle had once stood, with its vaulted Dome of Victory thrusting proud into the heavens.
In spite of his iron self-control, Yudhishtira shivered internally as he looked down at that once proud kingdom reduced to an overturned chariot, a pot, a few decaying bodies the ravenous ocean had overlooked.
He shook his head, fighting to clear the cloud of grief. What was it the patriarch, Krishna Dwaipayana, had said when they had formally handed the throne of Hastinapura to Parikshit, grandson of Arjuna and beloved of them all, and set out on the mahaprasthana, the final journey that would lead them to heaven or to hell as their deeds deserved?
“Never look back,” the patriarch had advised them. “Not physically, and not in the mind – from this moment on you have no past. There is only the step ahead that you must take, and the next one, and the next.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Yudhishtira caught sight of Arjuna perched on a rock, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the strength of his grief – a grief time had not been able to mitigate.
He had been present when the destruction had begun and yet, or maybe because of it, Arjuna had not been able to reconcile with the fact that his dearest friend was no more, that the kingdom that had been a second home to him had vanished as if it had been a figment of his imagination, that the gardens in which he had first seen Subhadra and wooed her was now buried deep beneath the pitch black waters of the unforgiving ocean.
They had greeted him with cries of relief when, in response to the urgent summons, Arjuna had first rushed to Dwaraka. The mightiest archer of the time was here, they consoled each other; Krishna’s dearest friend had come to their aid, and nothing bad could happen to them now.
Around them were the sights and sounds of impending doom: the roar of an ocean whipping itself into a consuming fury; the howls of the jackals that stalked the streets of Dwaraka in broad daylight; the screeching of the kites and vultures that circled overhead in such numbers as to turn the sky dark – birds of prey that had gorged on the flesh of Dwaraka’s men and, hungry still, hovered in search of more fodder.
These sights and sounds paralyzed them with a fear beyond imagining – but still they took heart: Arjuna was here.
They rushed to him, the women of Dwaraka. The closest clutched at him; the others called out his name and reached their hands towards him, clamoring for his attention, pleading for his protection.
He knew many of them, women of Krishna’s personal household. He had on his numerous visits sported with them in Dwaraka’s gardens, even bedded some of the more attractive among them. Arjuna forced aside his own grief at the destruction of the Yadava and Vrishni clans and worked to calm their fears.
“We will go to Hastinapura,” he promised them. “No harm will come to you there.”
He organized them into a group and marched at their head down the broad streets of Dwaraka. There was no time to waste gathering provisions for the trek; there was no able-bodied male left to help him in that task. One young boy had survived the general carnage; Arjuna put him on a horse and sent him away to Hastinapura with a message for Bhima: “Come quick, brother — I need help!”
With the Gandiva in his hand, an arrow notched to bowstring and a full quiver at his back, Arjuna marched out of the towering main gate of the ‘Kingdom of Gates’, with its embellishments of brightly colored peacocks and dancing girls, and headed towards the forest.
He felt a lassitude in his limbs and a fog enveloping his mind, but put it down as a reaction to the strain of his desperate rush to Dwaraka. He marched on and behind him, now quiet from a mixture of relief and exhaustion, walked the women.
Without warning the Dasyus burst out of the trees, their roars met by shrieks of fear from the women. Arjuna calmly lifted the Gandiva – and experienced a moment of stark terror when the bow slid out of his suddenly nerveless hand and thudded to the ground at his feet.
He bent to pick it up and found that it was all he could to raise the bow: his strength seemed to have deserted him, and his skill. When he reached for a fresh arrow, he merely managed to knock the quiver off his back.
All these years, the Gandiva had been an extension of his hand, his will – now, it was all he could do to pick it up and when he finally managed, he looked at it as if he did not know what to do with this strange curved object in his hand.
Arjuna slumped to the ground in despair, his eyes unfocused and mind blank. Around him in a rising crescendo rose the screams of Krishna’s women as the Dasyus grabbed them, threw them over their shoulders and raced away in the direction of the forest.
He lay there through that darkest of nights, next to the bow and the arrows that he was no longer master of. He lay there in the grip of a terror unlike any he had ever known, trying without success to shut his ears to the horrific sounds coming from the forest – the triumphant roars of the Dasyus mixed with the despairing wails of women stripped successively of their modesty and their lives.
At some point in the night, another sound intruded on his consciousness: the growing roar of an ocean that had burst its natural boundaries and commenced its assault on Dwaraka, swallowing everything it found in its path and returning, with redoubled fury, for more.
He had never felt such grief, such an enveloping sense of despair, ever before – not even when on the morning after the war he had walked field of Kurukshetra, his eyes fixed on a ground where the blood of his children had mingled with that of his enemies. But then that day, he had a friend who walked beside him, reminding him that to fight was a kshatriya’s duty, that to kill and to die were inextricable parts of Life itself.
Today he no longer had that friend. No more could be rely on finding beside him a source of strength when he was weak; no longer could he take refuge in the encompassing wisdom that could make sense out of the seemingly senseless, and keep him grounded when the world as he knew it appeared to be shifting beneath his feet.
And so he cried through that long night: bitter tears for the friend he had lost, for the women who had trusted him and who had paid for their trust with their honor and their lives. And he cried for himself – the greatest warrior of his time, now reduced to the eunuch he had once pretended to be.
That was how Bhima had found him sometime the next afternoon: prone on the ground, the now useless bow and arrows inert beside him, his face ravaged with grief and his body devoid of strength to even stand up.
Bhima had lavished on Arjuna the attention a nurse bestows on a sick child; while his brother slept, he had wandered in the direction of Dwaraka and recoiled from the unbelievable destruction. The ocean in its mindless fury had destroyed the once proud kingdom brick by brick; it had swallowed large parts of Dwaraka and, even as he watched from his vantage point, was returning for more.
He recalled the one time he had visited Krishna’s kingdom. Duryodhana was already in residence, learning the arts of the mace from Balarama. Krishna had urged his brother to invite him too, and when the messenger had come to Hastinapura he had been overjoyed.
He had taken care to wake well before dawn each day. Meticulously he had set aside his ornaments, tied up his hair, stepped out of his robes and tied his loin cloth around his waist in that special fashion peculiar to wrestlers and adepts of hand to hand combat, and hurried to the arena.
Each day, he had hoped that his guru would impart the secrets that, Sukracharya had once told him, were known only to Balarama himself. He practiced religiously all that he was taught and yet, when time came for him to leave, he struggled not to show the disappointment he felt at having learnt very little that was new.
The only memory he retained from that time was of Dwaraka’s blinding wealth, its pomp and unrivalled splendor.
Bhima stood beside Yudhishtira, looking out over the waters that had swallowed Dwaraka whole, and thought: had Krishna known how it would all turn out? Had he, fed up of the growing corruption and decay of the kingdom he had carved out of nothingness, deliberately sent the Yadavas and the Vrishnis to their deaths?
From what they had been able to pierce together from the accounts of two or three survivors, Krishna had organized a massive ‘celebration’ on the shore of the ocean. He had provided limitless food and drink and when the revelry was at its rowdiest, had left them to it and walked away into the forest with his brother Balarama.
At some point in the celebration Satyaki, considerably the worse for drink, had chanced upon Kritavarma and charged him with cowardice, accusing him of his role in killing the sleeping Pandava children and others on the 18th night of Kurukshetra.
An enraged Kritavarma had in his turn taunted Satyaki, reminding him that he was on his knees before Burisravas and begging for his life when his friend Arjuna had cut off his enemy’s arm – and Satyaki had then, Kritavarma reminded him, jumped up and cut off the head of the helpless Burisravas.
The argument led to blows and then to a full-fledged battle with swords; in a trice, the Vrishnis had taken up for Satyaki and the Yadavas rushed to the defense of Kritavarma. None survived.
Even as they pieced the story together and tried to make sense of it all, a wandering rishi had come to court with news that Krishna and Balarama were dead. Krishna was meditating under a tree, the rishi told them, when a passing hunter mistook him for a deer and shot him dead; grief-stricken at the death of his brother and the destruction of his race, Balarama had slipped into a yogic trance and given up his life.
Enough, Bhima thought – we have lived through several lifetimes in this one, we have endured more grief than any one human could possibly bear.
Enough!
He felt his brother’s calming touch on his shoulder. “No more tears, Bhima – we have put all that behind us. Remember what Krishna once told us? Nothing ever dies – we merely change one form for another, one life for another. The time has come to give up this body, this life where we have known very many griefs and very few joys. Come!”
Yudhishtira glanced out at the ocean for one last time and then, turning abruptly, began walking down the hill.
Bhima followed. Arjuna pushed himself up from the rock he had slumped on, and walked after his brothers. Nakula sighed and glanced at his twin; with one mind, the twins walked in the direction their elders had taken.
Draupadi stood under the shade of a tree, watching them go and summoning up the strength, the will, to walk in their wake. Her heart still grieved for the one who was gone – Krishna, who had been her strength when she most needed it, the unfailing source of comfort at the darkest of times, the one who more than any other, more even than her husbands, had kept her faith alive when all had seemed lost: kingdom, pride, dignity, honor, all.
He was gone. What was left?
She turned her back on the ocean, and walked down the hill, picking up the trail.
For days without end they walked on in single file, stopping when the need for rest overwhelmed them, eating the berries and fruits they foraged during their trek and marching ahead again, their minds absent of thought, their hearts devoid of feeling, their weary feet plodding one step at a time through increasingly difficult terrain — until, one dawn, they saw looming ahead of them the snow-crowned peaks of the Himalayas.
The sight of Mount Meru in the distance seemed to give Yudhishtira renewed energy; picking up his pace, he hurried in that direction without a backward glance at his brothers and wife struggling along in his wake. And when he got to the foot of Meru he began to climb, his eyes fixed on the peak.
Once, when escaping from Varanavata, he had struggled to climb a little hill and had to be carried on Bhima’s shoulders. But not this time – this time he would climb the mountain on his own and, at its peak, find in himself the will to slip into yoga nidra, to attain salvation.
Behind him, Bhima trudged on mindlessly, ignoring the rocks that cut into his feet and the thorny bushes that impeded his progress, scouring his palms when he pushed them aside.
He was tempted to turn back, to see how Draupadi was faring – always, through the long years they had spent in the forest, it had been his self-imposed duty to smooth her path. With an effort of will he kept his eyes focused on the path ahead and on the form of his elder brother climbing rapidly up the slope.
Throughout his life, he had followed in that brother’s footsteps. Even when his instincts suggested a different path, he had brushed such thoughts aside, sublimated his will to that of his brother. Now, in the final moments of his life, he could do no less – Yudhishitra led, so he needs must follow to whatever end awaited them on the mountain top.
And then he heard it – a faint cry, the sound of a body falling, the clatter of displaced rocks as they bounced away down the mountainside.
“Brother, wait!” Bhima shouted. “Draupadi has fallen.”
Yudhishtira neither turned around, nor paused in his steady climb. “I am not surprised. She long ago lost the strength of mind to climb away from this world and into salvation.”
Bhima froze in his tracks. “What?! She, this princess, followed us to our hovel, she married us, she partook of our troubles when she could have gone back, led a life of ease in the home of her father…”
“She followed us out of self interest, out of ambition – she wanted to keep our desire for revenge alive, she wanted us to fight and win a kingdom for her,” Yudhishtira’s voice came faintly to Bhim as he marched relentlessly on. “And above all, she was wife to all five of us, but it was only Arjuna she loved – even when she sat beside me on the throne, it was on him that her eyes were fixed. Those who fall, do so as a result of their own deeds – keep your eyes fixed to the front and walk on…”
Bhima heard footsteps approaching behind him.
Arjuna. Draupadi’s beloved.
Moments later, Arjuna drew abreast. “Draupadi has fallen,” Bhima said.
Arjuna walked on as if he had not heard, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.
He saw Nakula passing him to the left.
“Draupadi has fallen.”
“We cannot turn back, we cannot wait for anyone,” he muttered, and walked on.
Bhima stood where he was, watching the forms of his brother’s vanishing in the mists up ahead. Any moment now, he thought, Sahadeva would come up to him, carrying Draupadi in his arms. To this youngest of the brothers Draupadi had been wife and mother both; she had reserved for him a special place in her affections – surely, Bhima thought, Sahadeva would not leave her lying where she had fallen.
He heard Sahadeva’s footsteps approach. Bhima listened for the sounds that would tell him his brother was staggering under a burden, and readied to take Draupadi from him – but the footsteps were strong, steady; moments later, Sahadeva drew abreast, then walked on ahead without even a glance in his direction.
Bhima craned his neck back and looked up at the tip of the mountain. Somewhere up there, salvation waited; somewhere down below, the wife he had loved above all else in this world lay where she had fallen, abandoned by all.
He made his choice. Abruptly, he turned and hurried down the path as fast as his tired limbs would take him. Ahead of him, half hidden by a thorny bush, he saw the crumpled form of Draupadi. He ran.
Dropping to the ground beside her, he lifted Draupadi’s head onto his lap. She opened her eyes and looked up at him – and then she looked away, scanning the area for… what?
A last sight of the one she loved above all others? Or of the one who, as eldest, had most claim on her affections? A final glimpse of the handsome Nakula, of Sahadeva whom she had loved as mother and beloved both?
She looked back at him, and Bhima cringed at the disappointment in her eyes. “I am here,” he told her. “I’ll be here for as long as you need me.”
Leaving her lying there, he ran around gathering the little grass and moss he could find amidst the rocks, and spread it out in the shade of a tree. Carefully lifting Draupadi up in his arms, he carried her to the bed he had made and laid her down, her head cradled in his lap.
She looked up at him for a long moment. Her lips moved, forming words he could not hear. He bent closer. “My children,” she whispered, in a voice grown raspy with fatigue.
Her eyes closed. Bhima sat there, his back against a tree, his beloved’s head in his lap, and thought back to the 36 years she had ruled as queen. At first, they had hoped for more children; each of the brothers had in his turn as her husband longed to be the one who would father a heir to the throne.
After a while, Draupadi just gave up. “I think grief has turned me barren,” she had told him once, when he attempted to console her. “God gave me five wonderful sons and I failed them – why would he give me more?”
Gently, taking infinite pains not to disturb Draupadi who slept on in his lap, Bhima eased into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes.
A memory returned to haunt him: the memory of a man who, bleeding and broken, wandered the earth far below where they sat.
That night, Arjuna’s fury had been terrible to behold – he had rushed into the blazing lodge and rushed out again with his Gandiva and his quiver. Without even waiting for Krishna, he had jumped into his chariot, whipped the horses, and driven away at furious speed.
By the time the rest salvaged some weapons from the inferno that was the Pandava camp and caught up with him, Arjuna had cornered Ashwathama and engaged him in a battle that raged ferociously even as they watched.
Fighting with a brilliance none had never before seen in him, Arjuna had systematically, ruthlessly cut down each of Ashwathama’s weapons – and as the murderer of Draupadi’s children stood there helpless, had proceeded to inflict the most gruesome wounds on him in the most deliberate fashion imaginable.
It was Krishna who stopped him then – Krishna and the grandsire Dwaipayana, who had rushed to our camp when he caught sight of the fire from across the river and who had followed us to the spot in Nakula’s chariot.
They had stripped Ashwathama of his most prized possession, the blazing Syamanthaka jewel he wore on a gold band tight on his forehead. When Krishna ripped it away from him, the circlet had snapped and cut a deep furrow across his brow.
While Krishna pacified his friend, Dwaipayana spoke to Ashwathama. He was forbidden to ever enter the gates of any kingdom ruled by kshatriyas; he was doomed, Dwaipayana said, to wander the earth, forlorn and friendless, his life a constant reminder of his ultimate treachery.
“You brothers have each committed many sins during the course of this war,” Dwaipayana had told the brothers then. “Enough – do not add the killing of yet another Brahmin to those crimes. Let him go.”
And so, somewhere down below he wandered still, the man who in the dead of night had set fire to the Pandava camp and, with sword in hand, mercilessly cut down every one of Draupadi’s children.
My work is not done yet, Bhima decided; it will not be over as long as Ashwathama remains alive.
Draupadi stirred; her eyes fluttered opened and she looked up at him.
“You are still here!”
I will be, Bhima said – for as long as you need me, I will be here.
He saw tears moisten her eyes, then. She glanced for one last time at the path ahead, seeking the forms of those who had gone on ahead. And then she caught his eyes again and, her voice a weary whisper, she said: “Next time, be born the eldest!”
Bhima sat there through the night, not moving, not thinking. When the first rays of dawn lit up the sky above the distant peak, he gently lifted Draupadi’s head off his lap, and stood up.
He looked down at her still form for one last time; he glanced upward at the path his brothers had taken.
And then he turned and walked back down the mountain.
He still had work to do.
i was hoping this party will never be over
thanks for this.
Thanks Prem for all the wonderful episodes. I have been reading them regularly and will miss them.
Where can I find the complete pdf of Bhimsen?
Prem,
I wonder why no one has asked this yet. Is it not weird that Bhim decides to go after Ashwatthama after 36 years? He may already be dead or very old.
I guess that your Bhim is consistent in that his decision is motivated by the last few words of Draupadi. But 36 years is a very long time. Going after Ashwtthama now seems absurd and I doubt that anyone would take such a decision.
My guess is that this is not your idea but MTVs. Please let me know.
Thanks.
Prem,
What a brilliant episode…just like the 71 before this. I used to check cricket related sites as soon as i would get to my office…but since the day you started writing Bhim, that had taken a back seat. Reading Bhim twice a weak had become such a routine that I (and many others I am sure) had taken it for granted. But now reality has hit hard and to realize that there won’t be any new episodes is just unimaginable…
Thanks a million for treating us with your wonderful writing. I hope your feel good factor of not having to think of the next episode does not last forever and hopefully your restlessness will kick in soon…so that people like me can enjoy your next work. Thats the selfish part in me!!!
Needless to say its sad it is coming to an end. Its as if you have stopped writing. But I can see your new posts – so all is not lost
I had asked what would Bhim do about Aswathama and you said “I have not decided” and now the end is simply brilliant… suits Bhim well – he is a doer above all.
Cannot thank you enough for doing this – no words to express it either.
One typo – “none had never before seen in him”
Thanks a ton! I have never read a more interesting version of the Mahabaratha!. Wow!!
Over the past months, I had believed, foolishly so, that this would never come to an end.
I’m sure sitting back, reading, enjoying and arm-chair critiquing the whole thing was much easier than, the tremendous time, energy and passion you devoted towards putting this together.
Thank you a whole bunch and I hope, wish and pray that you find inspiration for many more interesting re-tells.
Arvind
All good things come to an end. Thanks very much Prem for writing this. The ending was pretty compact and hard hitting. This angle (don’t know whether it’s yours or MTV’s) is really unique. I always thought that Bheem died during that journey. Didn’t know that he retraced his steps to take care of “unfinished business”.
Also, someone in the comments section mentioned 30+ years of inaction in his life. I think that’s not completely true. Bheem led the Ashwamedha forces to the east and South, right ?
I understand that you are going to take a well deserved break from such topics for some time. Hope to se some more of such writing on your blog again.
As with much of this narrative, the ending is a bit of a mix — some MT, some me.
As to further writing, yeah, been vaguely thinking of subsequent projects, but will take a couple of weeks at least for such thoughts to crystallize.
A fitting epilogue to a brilliantly written series. Kudos Prem!!
Thoroughly enjoyed reading the whole of Bhimsen. Opened the doors to a lot of interesting thoughts!!!
Hi Prem,
I just had one question.. Draupadi’s line “next time, be born the eldest” sounds strangely familiar to me. Did you get it from the M T Vasudevan Nair work or from some other story (which was possibly from Draupadi’s POV)? I can’t remember for the life of me why that line sounds so damn familiar.
On an entirely different note, I’m going to miss the weekly wait for the next episode of Bhimsen. Thank you so much for the effort.
Iravati Karve mentioned this in her essay in Yugant with a note that this conversation was her ‘2 cents’.
Ah, so it is from Yuganta?! I owe Iravati Karwe one, then. Last week when working on this final episode, I was chatting up my uncle — who should be familiar to readers as the person who first introduced me to MT’s work so many years ago, and who I’ve used as a sounding board on and off — about where I was taking this, and he mentioned in passing that he recalled reading something on these lines. Seemed to me a neat way of rounding off the ongoing ambiguity in Draupadi’s feelings for Bhim, so decided to use it as the end here. Thanks for the heads up, and herewith add Karwe to the inspirations for this thing.
Yeah, it was Yuganta.
I logged in here because I recognized it; Adhip was quicker
It’s a small book(around 150-200 pages) that packs quite a punch. I hope you’ll find time to read it.
Who is “Krishna Dwaipayana” referred to in this and other episodes? Is it the same as Vyasa?
Kapalik
Hi Kapalik,
Krishna Dwaipayana is indeed Vyaasa. The name means literally, “Dark complexioned one who was born on an island”
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vyasa
Krishna Dwaipayana is the original author. Vyasa simply means compiler or editor. A generic name like say a poet. I dont know Dwaipayana had another physical name as Vyasa (for example in Tamil we have names like Kavi) or the term Vyasa is generically used to include all the contributors to the story since lots of additions have been done to it. I simply dont know but it is a good question… if more learned folks can answer…
Excellent epilogue Prem. Thanks for this wonderful retelling.. Looking at the description of Dwaraka’s destructions, looks to be a Tsunami …
Yeah, I kind of stayed with just describing the thing and, unlike with the eclipse theme during the Jayadratha portion of the war, stopped short of naming a natural cause
Thanks you guys for the feedback — leaving work early, will check back in here tomorrow.
I was thrown off a little bit with the changed narrative. I do not know if this would have been a much more emotional episode if the Bhim POV was continued like in the earlier episodes. How Bhim would have reacted to his brothers all abandoning their collective wife, Would it have pained him deeply when Y said Draupadi really loved Arjun the most ? I guess its all upto my imagination now.!
Kudos Prem and thanks for the memories.
I initially thought about that, but realized that while it would add power to the final bit, it would make the earlier parts about Dwaraka etc that much more complicated — so finally bailed and opted to stay with MT’s use of third person narrative for this [what is the prologue in his version and the epilogue in mine]. Call it laziness — I suspect if I had more leisure time last week and over the weekend, I could have sweated the hard stuff and actually made pov narration work.
Prem,
If and when you make this into a book, hope you will incorporate these discussions also. These discussions were as riveting as the posts. I, for one, always eagerly waited for each episodes knowing it will lead me to a lot of interpretations. From a book, I get the authors interpretation and my interpretation. This has been like being in a book club with people discussing each episode after reading.
What are your thoughts of having this as an e-book or a site together with the comments/discussions. May be we can revisit some old discussions as well, with hindsight.
Readers, is it possible to take this up as a collective task? Thoughts?
And Prem, once again. Thanks
Sorry for the X-post in E&OE.
Prem, excellent seriest and thanks for writing it.
After quite a few years, i again read mahabharata and it struck me again how wonderful the story is. It is, without a doubt, one of the major epics in human literature. Complex, open to interpretations and so life like. Bhim has been one of the under rated characters in other versions so it was great to see him as a focal point.
I do hope that you turn this into book. Newer generations should get a chance to read mahabharata in its all its glory and complexity.
The end is near? So soon?
This episode is riveting! Thank you
amazingly captivating….
Can’t believe this is end of Bhimsen!
Prem, can’t thank you much for this wonderful series, it beats any reading that I have done till date or any TV soap I have watched.
KP
One word, Thanks !!!!
Hi Prem,
I wouldn’t call it brilliant end but an end that leaves you gasping for more!
Brilliant series though, very well written! We will surely miss Bhima a lot!
I hope you are planning to publish this as a book eventually.
Great series and what an end! We have more questions than answers now. Where did Bhim go back to? Why did Draupadi tell him to be born the eldest the next time? Just so she can have her way, considering that Bhim had always cared for her needs, or is it out of genuine affection towards him and feels that he did not get all that he deserved in this life?
Just a few of the many whirling in my ming now. Wow!!
Many thanks for doing this, Prem. I have enjoyed your writing just as much (if not more) as the story. I wish you take up more such assignments in future and delight your readers as you have been doing over the years.
Very nicely done finale. A bit jerky, in terms of timeline I thought.
Also, Arjunas’s weakness is not explained in any manner – medical, grief, psychological or in any other manner. I thought that was a bit weak.
Another question: Wouldnt 36 years of peace not bored an action oriented character like Bhima? Would he not have basically become ‘decadent’? Witness what happened to Alexander’s major generals immediately following his death
On the whole this was an excellently told story that utilized the medium very well.
Bravo!
Couple of minor typos: “No more could be rely on finding beside him a source of strength when he was weak” and in another place, your have written “brother’s” when you meant “brothers”
Deliberate, that leaving of Arjuna’s weakness to individual imagination. Not everything needs, or admits of, a proper ‘diagnosis’.
36 years of peace may not be the right description — it is 36 years without a major war, but it certainly wasn’t 36 years of inactivity [see my response to another question in this thread]. Also, “inactivity” does not invariably, automatically, affect people in identical ways — Alexander’s generals had nothing to do outside of war itself; Bhima clearly had a role to fulfill as Y’s second in command at a time of considerable work.
Thanks for all the kind words, you guys. Have to get some stuff done, back on this later.
“Today he no longer had that friend. No more could be rely on finding beside him a source of strength…”
I think these lines kind of symbolize what I am feeling and probably many other regular followers.
Great stuff this.
Will wait patiently for the next project you undertake, if you choose to do so.
sadly all good things come to pass. It has been a wonderful read all 72 episodes and I had been looking forward to it.
More than anything else this was story period – not an Epic, Not mythology but a story of a family of 5 brothers and what they go thru in their life from the point of view of one brother who is physically the strongest of them all but in Mahabharat the Epic was portrayed as fairly dumb. That gives it a different kind of read.
Fitting end to the series. Nice touch to attribute the destruction of Ayodhya to natural causes rather than the “curse” mumbo jumbo. All in all, a great ride you have taken us all to.
Trivial point – The Pandavas are in their 40s when the war started. They are said to have ruled for 36 years. That puts them in the lower 70s – uper 80s. Isn’t that too old to climb a mountain? Can Arjun’s inability to defend the women of Dwarka be attributed to his old age?
We do not know much about the reign of 36 years. 36 years is too long a period without some notable incident to happen.
Taking that in reverse order, much would have happened, yes: they had a kingdom to resurrect, one that had been devastated economically, and decimated in terms of manpower. Such things don’t happen overnight. At some point they also did the Ashwamedha — in other words, went beyond worrying about their narrow geographical boundaries and attempted to stitch together a larger federation of nations. These are huge tasks, and would take considerable time to accomplish.
As for age being a drawback to climbing mountains, Bhisma would have been in his late 90s when he fought a war. And, um, Larry King was about the Pandavas’ age when he fathered a child more recently, to cite just two “examples”. I think age=weakness is a current day construct — back then, they led far more active lives and didn’t mess with their bodies the way we do today.
Point taken. Would have loved if there was some literature on this 36 year period.
Larry King is a freak of nature. So must have been the Pandaveas.
I guess you mean “Dwaraka” & not Ayodhya.
Wrong epic!
Prem,
A fitting end to a superb series. Congrats on the mammoth effort!! I’m sure it has been a very rewarding experience for you.
I can’t believe its over … I used to eagerly anticipate these episodes, its hard to digest its over now!!
Its been a pleasure following Bhim. I hope you start something like this soon.
Congrats once again!!
Aditya
If I remember, you had mentioned once before that the original starts from the point where Bhim looks down to see where Draupadi had fallen while the Pandavas are climbing Mount Meru and the entire story is a recollection fro Bhim’s POV.
you have ended the series almost exactly there. In hindsight, I feel that it would have been quite powerful to have started off in the same fasion as MTV did. The flashback technique may be an old one, but I feel that the series may have had an additional impact with the reader knowing that Draupadi had just died and the Pandavas are heading towards their final frontier. Maybe, just maybe. again, most readers who had read the original would have known what happens to the Pandavas towards the end, but was just wondering….
The destruction of the Yadavas/Vrishnis – wouldn’t Arjuna have known what Krishna had in mind? Why he triggered such a factional war that left the entire clan devastated? What motivated him to do that? Did he see some barbaric tendencies in them that he felt was not good for them to continue to be a powerful kingdom?
No, the original starts its first chapter with the Pandavas looking down at the devastation of Dwaraka and ends with Draupadi falling and Bhima coming back down the mountain — more or less as it is here [for this last episode, I stuck to the third person narrative, like MT did].
I took the judgment call that to start on these lines throws the reader in at the deep end, unnecessarily. Such a beginning does not in any way I could see enhance the narrative — it merely uses a technique relatively new in writing at the time, but passe now. And it raises too many questions in a reader’s mind that will not be resolved for a very long time.
Reading a book is a finite process — you start it, questions occur, but they are resolved in a matter of days — however many you take to get through the 300-odd pages.
In a retelling of the kind I was doing, those days become months, and the looming questions are an extended distraction, hence my decision to begin at the beginning.
As for why Krishna did what he did, while there is a hint that maybe he just got fed up with the corruption of something he had begun and decided it was time to end it, to delve deeper into the motivations through Arjuna’s eyes or through a third party narrator’s point of view was way beyond the scope of this narrative. The book focuses, even fixates, on Bhima; it never looks at Krishna’s motivations for various actions that he takes at various times, hence there is no good reason to explore just this final act. Besides, Krishna’s motivations, whatever they may have been, would be of a piece with his actions throughout his career. It would IMHO be counter productive to examine motivations for this one act, absent any similar exploration earlier.
I agree. It may have been a distraction. Also, I did not know that the original started from the destruction of Dwaraka. I thought it was from the point when Draupadi fell off the mountain.
Krishna’s motivations – I agree that it is irrelevant in this retelling. Also, that would also be getting into dangerous, unchartered territory. To understand the motivations of Krishna is not easy and nor is it easy to narrate that to the readers. It may have kindled an unnecessary war of words at a time when this story has ended with a very precise and just end. This leaves us with a lingering question – did Draupadi love Bhima the most? Did Bhima go back to seek revenge or did he go back to fulfill some of his and her desires? Did she long to see Bhima as a king, as a leader of men than just as a devoted younger brother?
This narration leaves the readers with many questions, questions that can be explored and elaborated further, by the reader himself.
Brilliant end!
I didn’t duck it because it was *dangerous* but because in this telling Krishna is in relative terms a peripheral character. To understand the destruction of Dwaraka would require a consistent exploration of all that he does after Jarasandha forces him to create a new kingdom in Dwaraka, and how over time he conceives of the concept of not small, independent nation states but a much larger federation of nations.
The way this has been written, I would think no, Draupadi does not love Bhim the most — in fact, it is with him that she has a love-hate or at least, if not hate then aversion, type relationship — and that goes both ways, for Bhim too has moments when his infatuation is superseded by anger/aversion.
I’d think it would be far more accurate to say that it is only right at the end that Draupadi realizes — when the others pass her by without a glance — the nature of Bhima’s affection for her, how unshakable it is.
As for the lingering questions, yes, they are there quite deliberately — cues for your imagination.
Even at the end, Draupadi says “be born the eldest” not “be born as Arjuna” … this was confusing. As the eldest Bhim would have *rights* to D not necessarily the love of D.
Another thing that bothered me was the rambo revenge mission he seems to set out on, now, 36 yrs after kurukshetra, to finish aswathama. (In this more natural version, he may even have died of old age, there is no immortality curse). Aswathama appears to be tacked on, really jerkily added into the context as B sits watching over a dying D. MT appears to have wanted to give him something to do, that is not a renunciation… its back to Bhim the Avenger, and IMHO was a weak ending.
Thanks,
Jai
About the first point, where D could be coming from is that in this life, Y as eldest had rights over her, but she didn’t necessarily love him as much — so her longing could be for another life where a person she actually loves, or has just discovered she loves, also has the rights to go with it.
As for the other, it is not so much about Bhim as Rambo style avenger. The point is that when you come towards the end of your life is when you are forcibly confronted with teh thought that you had left things undone that perhaps you should have done when you had the chance. At the time, B can go with the general thing of letting Ashwathama go, but as he sits there, contemplating the loss of the woman he loved and faced with the end of his own existence, he can without being a Rambo decide that he still has unfinished business to attend to — especially when you consider that one of D’s last thoughts is of her children who were murdered.
Wonderful end -like they say a result which should keep most happy.Well written,and seems as if Y has won back everyone’s respect and affection (the way it has been written)
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep..
A fitting end,nay a masterpiece to finish a great series
Prem,
Firstly, thanks for the effort in retelling the Mahabharata. You write in such a captivating manner and in general, your writing has been of the highest quality. This episode was so poignant. Really, when there have been so many wonderful episodes, it is difficult to pick the best among them, but this episode is at the very top of the list. A fitting end to a wonderful series.
Thanks,
Sriram
PS: A minor typo that I noticed: it should be piece together and not pierce.
Really excellent work Prem? A small doubt, did Bhim go back just because to take revenge or lust for power ?
Kishor, that is your call to make.
One thing I noticed while writing this is that at every stage, I have to think of not just actions and consequences, but also motivations of the various characters. And it occurred to me that often, when I see a character behaving in a certain fashion, it is unclear whether that is how the character would behave, or whether it is how I would behave if I were in his shoes. It forces you to think also of yourself at times, and for me that has been one of the unexpected benefits of doing this. So — why did Bhim go back? You answer it in the way it best suits you… I leave that up to the collective imagination/interpretation.