No songs about the war were sung during my reign as Queen. I forbade it. There were no verses that bullied the Kauravas, no encores about the victory of the Pandavas. Everyone remembered it grimly, with tears. Knowing fully well that everyone was to blame for it.
And while I have maintained my silence on the matter thus far, I think it is finally time I say something.
My husband was splendid during the war. He was the epitome of skill and kshatriya endeavours. Every morning, we would wake up together. He'd exercise and bathe. I'd dress him. In return, I was given a warm smile and a gentle kiss. Then he would leave.
At dusk, he would return. Having killed far too many people, having led his own family to see the dawn of another day. Yes, there were selfish motives like glory. However, he did love his family. There was plenty that he did for their sake. The Pandavas would have lost this war long ago had it not been for Arjun.
Yudhisthira being alive was the result of Arjun's efforts. Arjun's and his son, Abhimanyu's.
Abhimanyu, the youngest Pandava child, had sacrificed his life in order to keep Yudhisthira alive. Consequently, the youth was decimated by the Kaurava elders. What's more, they surrounded the defenseless child and killed him.
I still remember Subhadra's screaming. Disconsolate. Deafening.
I remember Draupadi hurrying into our camp to console a devastated Uttara, who was threatening to kill their unborn child.
Subhadra was in my own arms, beating my chest and gasping for air. No matter how much we would try helping her, the tears kept coming. Of course, they did. The tears threatened to spill over on my own cheeks.
That was when my mother-in-law chanced upon us. She surveyed the scene with her beady brown eyes. "Mrinali, let her go."
I immediately let go of my hold on Subhadra, who fell before our mother-in-law.
Rajmata Kunti lifted Subhadra up from the floor and quietly said, "This loss in unimaginable, dear child. No one can understand it except Arjun. Nothing can help either of you except each other. He will be here soon. Grieve in your bedroom, maybe solitude might help."
Then Kunti looked at me again. "Get Arjun, now."
So I did.
*****
By the time I reached the entry of our camp, there was a large crowd blocking the gate. There was an eerie silence that blanketed the gathering except for a few sharp wails that threatened to split my eardrum.
I recall pushing through the crowd, a tangle of limbs and defeated faces. People had covered their mouths with their hands to muffle the sobbing.
A lone tear fell down my cheek.
"Excuse me, let me through. Let me through!" I hiccuped, weaving through the public.
Before me, lay Arjun, lying on the arid soil. Tears flowing freely, his eyes were screwed shut.
Around him, the Pandavas looked on, crying silently but unmoving from their spots.
My own heart twisted at the sight.
I approached him, gently. I ran my fingers across his cheek. "Arjun." I pulled his head onto my lap.
Almost immediately, his hand found mine and gripped it. Hard.
I looked up at the gawking crowd and ordered the brothers to clear the space. While they did so, I bent forward to console my husband.
"Subhadrakant, I know your son passed away and I'm very sorry. I cannot express what I'm feeling at the moment. But I need you to get up now," my own voice cracked, "get up and meet your wife. She's hysterical and inconsolable. She needs you. And you need her!"
There was muffled silence as Arjun still wept. I wasn't even sure whether he'd heard me.
"Get up, Arjun. 20 steps further and then you can collapse. I promise. Get up." I vowed.
There a twitch of movement. And then I felt my husband's entire weight shift. I scrambled to my feet and helped him into the tent.
Inside, my husband stumbled into Subhadra's waiting arms. Both of them wept.
I turned around to see my Kanha and Dau standing at the entrance of the tent, eyes stained with tears. They held my gaze and did not say a word.
*****
"I'm sorry for your loss. . ." I hesitated before trying the word, "Prabhu."
Dau looked up at me from under his hooded eyelids and his lips curled into a sheepish smile. It was a smile that softened his otherwise terse countenance.
"'Dau' will do," he replied, "we are still in our human form, Mrinali."
"Very well, I'm sorry for your loss, Dau." Ah, those words came to me so easily.
"It pains me to think of a child dying for a war. And for what, a throne?" He inhaled. "And what about my sister? That was her only son!"
I nodded, solemnly.
"Humans never understand. Power is a drug. They will always covet it and then squander their lives away. Power is meant for those who can control their temptations. I tell you, if power-seekers realized the burden they'd also be taking on apart from the title and prestige, no one would want to be a ruler."
Now if only the rest of the world could have heard this.
*****
I walked into Yudhisthira's tent.
He was lying on his bed, ready for the day to be over. I almost felt bad for what I was about to say.
He got up as soon as he noticed me.
"Mrinali." He said by way of greeting.
"Samrath."
Between my first introduction to him at his Rajasuya yagna and to this very moment, Yudhisthira had changed a lot. He looked older and exhausted. And pained. As if he was in constant torture. I say this without batting an eye, I was a thorn in his side. There I stood, ready to draw swords with him again.
"How can I help you?" He didn't want to help me at all.
"Don't expose the children too much." I said quickly and then added, "please." As if it was an afterthought.
"The children must do their bit in this war."
"Of course, but you need an heir if you don't want this war to be a completely futile. What's the point of you becoming king again if you don't have an heir?"
Yudhisthira contemplated it.
"We won't let them remain too close to the front lines, where the bulk of the fighting will happen."
I nodded. "Thank you." Indeed, I was thankful. It was something I was concerned about given my own son's participation in the war.
No matter how much I had told him to stand back, he had gone off to battle anyway. It only showed that he was partly my son. The other half had been certainly derived from irritating Kuru blood.
*****
Lies, lies, lies. It was too funny. They called me Satyadharaa but they didn't realise how easy it was for me to lie. I could do it without minimal moral guilt.
Yudhisthira, however, could not say the same. So when I suggested lying to Dronacharya about his son, Ashwathama's death as a plot to kill him, he berated me greatly.
It took everything to not say anything to him. To explode and be incisive and hurtful.
Kanha called for a break, requesting everyone to get some rest before resuming this discussion. There was unanimous agreement among all the settled monarchs and princes. They shuffled out relatively quickly, no one looking my way. Clearly, not a soul wished to engage with an angry Rajkumari Mrinali.
As everyone left, Yudhisthira huffed and spun away in an attempt to calm himself down.
I eyed him, still seated.
In careful, measured words, I seethed, "They call you dharmaraj because you are always moral and righteous. They call me satyadharaa because I say the truth as it is, unembellished. Dharma and truth are not the same, Dharmaraj.
You prefer rules and morality. I prefer the truth, and the truth doesn't understand rules or morality.
Believe me when I tell you, the only way to kill that man is to employ deception."
Ultimately, we did use my method to kill the teacher. For now, we had solved one problem.
I would pay the price for this choice later though.
*****
Dear all, I am back. How does it feel?
A little over halfway through the war. We are almost there. Any worries or inhibitions yet?
Let me know what you think. Vote and comment, please!
Oh, for those who don't know:
Subhadrakant = husband of Subhadra
That's all for now. See you soon!
Love.