Tomorrow

2 years ago

proteeti

@sambhavami

The cursed thirteenth night dragged its feet. The sky bore the colour of bile, perhaps in protest of the coming day. The stars hid behind a thick shroud of fog. A biting cold reigned around a group of worn tents, several now abandoned. Krishna pulled his shawl tighter as he untied the horses from the golden chariot. The horses ran towards the river nearby as soon as the ropes came free. Sighing, Krishna began pushing the chariot along the same path. From the shadows, Hanuman, his old friend, appeared, “It’s not your job.” He said, “Didn’t you have those boys who did this?”

“All dead,” Krishna answered. “The chariot needs a wash.” He said as he absentmindedly wiped mud from one of the wheels. Hanuman looked at him, “Let me. You need rest.” Krishna followed Hanuman’s eyes along the long gash running through his left arm. “It’s nothing,” he said. 

At the riverside, the water rushed fast but quiet, the blood-red river almost lurking in the darkness. Squatting down in a muddy crevice, Krishna began to scrub the wheel.

Hanuman cleared his throat, “Krishna, do you want to talk? You’ve been pouring more mud than water on that wheel for the past half hour. Besides we’ve been friends long enough.” Answered Hanuman. Krishna smiled, but his eyes were still downcast.

“I’m a cruel person, Hanuman. Hear me out. That boy, that died? His blood is on my hands, and mine alone. I raised him from an infant, handed him a bow and arrow and let him march to his slaughter alone.”

“You couldn’t have known,” said Hanuman.

Krishna laughed cynically, “Except, I knew. I saw the end of his road, from the moment I first looked into his eyes. I saw those warriors butchering him seven to one, and I did nothing. His father was exiled for thirteen years. I raised him! I held his fingers as he learned to walk; my name was the first he learned to speak. I handed him his first bow and told him to shoot. I taught him to hunt lions and recite poems.

“I watched him fall in love, and I was there when he learned to hate. You know, the trap he walked into so willingly? He knew how to break into it, but not how to come out. Every other day he would come to me asking when would I teach him the trick of the Chakravyuha. Every time he asked, I said tomorrow.

“This morning, he came up to me, after he heard the enemy had laid out this formation. He said to me, ‘This one’s on you, Uncle, keep Father safe.’ I smiled at him, and said, ‘I promise.’

“I kept his father safe: far away from him, and that wretched Chakra. He died in there hoping for a miracle, and I made sure it wouldn’t come.

“And yet, here I am. Preparing to drive his father to war tomorrow as if I have nothing to do with his son’s death. I will look his parents in the eyes and promise that I will avenge him!”

Hanuman sighed, “You did what you had to. It took them seven seasoned warriors to take down one sixteen-year-old. At least he gave them hell.”

“What was the use, Hanuman? Am I to still pretend there is any point to this war? You once called me the Lord of the universe. What use is that? I set the wheels of karma to motion myself, but when does it stop? So much power at my fingertips, and yet I’m sitting here mourning an innocent child!”

The night had burst into the first light of dawn. Krishna’s eyes were bloodshot, “My poor Arjuna! He doesn’t even know- the very hands he held as he wept into the night are the ones that are sullied with his child’s blood!” 

“You did what you did for the greater good, Krishna.”

“That’s no excuse. I am the one who chooses who lives and who dies, and I chose him to die. All alone, surrounded by monsters. And I decided this a long time ago.”

Krishna tied the horses to the chariot gleaming as the first rays of sun blossomed. “You know what Hanuman,” Krishna turned around. A crazed look had come upon him, “Everybody pays for this. Even me.”

The crack of Krishna’s whip resounded through the valley, as his horses picked up speed, running into the blood-soaked battlefield.