A Different Path

Questions

"Lakshman, please...." Ashwathama started but didn't finish. What exactly was he supposed to say? That when Karna left, he didn't just destroy Duryodhana but him too. How was he supposed to console his best friend when he was just as heartbroken? Did Lakshman really not recall how close Ashwathama was to Karna, their friendship was just as profound as the one between Karna and his father. Why did everyone always forget about him?

Just like his father had.

"I am sorry, my child. You are right, I should have been here." He conceded after several minutes of silence, broken only by Lakshman's ragged breathing. And though Ashwatthama did not regret leaving, especially after what had happened, after what had been said to him, he did care deeply about Lakshman. A part of him wondered if it would have been better if he had taken the boy with him to Uttar Panchal. He couldn't imagine what Lakshman must have gone through, considering every adult in the family had more or less gone been destroyed by grief and would have probably forgotten about this young man all together. He must have been so alone in this grand mansion. Must have been forced to deal with the horror of Mahabharat and its aftermath all by himself.

Lakshman looked stunned. Perhaps he had expected Ashwatthama to fervently deny his allegations, or at least make a cursory if only perfunctory effort to defend himself.

"Well...yes...you..... you should have." Lakshman's voice was raspy and weak.

"It's so unfair. The way we have treated you." Ashwathama berated himself for not thinking of Lakshman Kumar, this wise kid who had always been so alone, so overlooked in the midst of the power struggles for the throne of Hastinapura.

Much like him.

"How.... how can I make it up to you?" Ashwathama asked earnestly, hoping that Lakshman would give him a chance to redeem himself.

Lakshman stood up suddenly, his lip quivering and eyes jaded. "You can't. But for starters," he choked back a sob, "Don't you leave again."

Ashwathama watched Lakshman Kumar practically sprint across the grounds, trying to get away in time before he had a breakdown in front of him. He should have gone after him, inquired about his health and how the past year had been to him.

But he didn't.

Because he already knew the answer to that question.

By the time he reached his father's cottage, it was dark already. The birds had retired to their nests and the only sounds that could be heard came from the soft creaking of branches that danced in the evening wind. He loved it here, living so close to nature. Just as he thought this a rabbit brushed past his feet into the shaggy bushes that dotted the path to the door of the hut.

Hesitantly, he opened the door and entered, taking care to keep his existence hidden from his parents. A heavy emotion filled his heart, at the familiarity and comfort of his home. He had missed it so much.

His father sat in the center of the room, eyes fixed on the manuscript he was reading near the lit oil lamp. He took his time to observe his father, face set in determination as he read through the manuscript, mouth a thin line and eyes still and serious like always. His heart, which was much weaker and nowhere near as hard as his father's wrenched at the sight. Because despite everything, he loved him still.