When word reached Asvatthama as to how Duryodhana had been tracked down by the Pandavas and treacherously wounded by Bheema in a duel, anger surged in his veins. Already anguished over the brutal slaying of his father Drona, he now decided to avenge himself against the Pandava brothers.
In the pitch darkness of the night, he walked to the spot where Duryodhana lay, writhing in pain, alone and helpless. Surprised by Asvatthama’s visit at that unearthly hour, Duryodhana said, ‘I don’t know why Yama has prolonged my agony. He should have carried me away much sooner. Or is it because I am fated to hear some more dreadful news before I close my eyes?’
Deeply touched by Duryodhana’s words, Asvatthama responded: ‘On the contrary, I have come here to give you a word of cheer. I want you to know that I have solemnly vowed to kill all the Pandavas tonight. They must be wiped out before sunrise. So, if you would just hold on for a while, I hope to bring you the news that would alleviate your pain.’
Although grievously wounded, Duryodhana tried to raise his head. A sparkle lit his eyes. ‘Would anything else please me more, O Asvatthama? Indeed, I will hold my last breath till you return with the glad tidings that you have accomplished your mission. May God be with you!’
With the flames of revenge burning in his eyes, Asvatthama walked towards his tent. On the way, he stopped momentarily by Kripacharya’s tent. Should he share his pledge with him, he wondered. But he decided not to let the Acharya into it till he had worked out his strategy meticulously.
Back in his tent, he sat on his bed, holding his sword in his right hand. He let his fingers run up and down the blade of his weapon as if it were a stringed instrument. He sat musing for quite some time. Outside his tent, wild beasts of the forest were howling. Not for them any rest at night, he thought. Night was the time for them to prowl around for their prey, not to lie sleeping.
Then, suddenly, the howling ceased, and he heard another noise – the hooting of an owl, the bird of the night, as it chased some crows. In no time was the owl, with its uncanny vision, able to swoop down upon the crows and strike them dead. Wasn’t that a signal for him, thought Asvatthama, from some unknown power, to act like that owl and kill the five Pandavas as they lay fast asleep in their tents? If he could plunge his sword deep enough into the heart of each Pandava, there would be no cry heard by anyone around. The deed done, he would then let his taper set aflame their tents, reducing everything to ashes. Assassination and cremation – a dual task performed in one stroke!
Now that he had worked out his strategy, he decided to share it with Kripacharya, who was snoring away in his tent. As he gently touched his feet, the Acharya woke up with a start. He was surprised to see Asvatthama in the middle of the night. With his heart pounding, Asvatthama then told him how he had planned to kill all the five Pandavas that night. They must pay with their death for the dastardly killing of his father and the treacherous wounding of Duryodhana.
‘But that would be a most unchivalrous act,’ said Kripa, ‘to kill them in their sleep. This does not be fit the son of Dronacharya. I urge you to desist from such a sinful act.’
Asvatthama retorted, raising the pitch of his voice: ‘O Acharya, didn’t chivalry die with the brutal killing of my father when he was deep in his yogic trance on the battlefield? Wasn’t it like killing him in his sleep? And think of Krishna signalling Bheema to hit Duryodhana below his waist. You should have come with me to see that invincible warrior now gasping for his last breath by the lakeside.’ As Asvatthama continued, his lips quivered, and his hands quaked with intense wrath. Kripacharya now realized that Asvatthama was inexorably committed to his vendetta and would not deflect from it. Besides, wasn’t there some justification for his vengeance?
‘Well, if you are so determined to kill them, I give you my consent, even though you will have to do it all by yourself. May God help you!’
Armed with his blessings, Asvatthama briskly walked towards a row of tents wherein slept, he surmised, all the five Pandavas, lost to the world outside. In the darkness of the night, he looked like a ghost prowling for victims. In a short while, he put to the sword all of them. As he had anticipated, not a cry was heard. Just as he plunged his sword deep into each heart, the body went limp instantly – like a candle blown out by a single breath. The killings done, he then torched the tents, which erupted into a blaze. In no time, everything was reduced to ashes. Asvatthama now walked to the spot where Duryodhana waited for him.
Brandishing his bloodstained sword in the air, he said to Duryodhana, ‘It is done!’ Then, bringing his sword close to Duryodhana’s eyes, he added: ‘How I wish it could show you the blood of each Pandava – its distinct colour and density. But a sword does not discriminate.’
In Duryodhana’s eyes now appeared the glow of someone who had attained divine bliss after a long tapas.
‘You have already sent me to heaven, where there is eternal peace. I fumble and falter for words to thank you adequately enough. You have accomplished something that neither your father nor my grandfather could achieve. He took a deep breath, as if his vocal chords had failed him for a moment. ‘May I request you, O illustrious son of a peerless archer, to take over the command of my army, whatever is left of it? I will now wait in heaven to hear the great news of your victory over my enemies.’ With these words, he slumped into the sleep from which there is no awakening. But as he closed his eyes, there rippled on his face a smile of satisfaction.
It was only the next morning that Asvatthama learnt, to his utter bewilderment, that he had slain not the Pandava brothers but Draupadi’s five sons. Now that he had lost the last round, it was time to acknowledge his defeat. When the gods throw the dice, how can any mortal win the game? He then walked over to Yudhishthira’s tent, carrying his sword in his right hand. Let him sever his head with it, or punish him in any other way he liked.
‘Here I stand before you, O Dharmaputra, to be treated in any manner you choose. I concede defeat, and here I place my sword at your feet, and salute you as the undisputed king of both Hastinapur and Indraprastha.’
Asvatthama was, however, taken aback when Yudhishthira did not react vengefully. ‘It is not for me to punish you, O Asvatthama, for plunging a mother into mortal grief over the murder of her sons. As for myself, I offer you my forgiveness. Haven’t we all sinned at one time or another? So let us leave everything to God. No human being should take upon himself the role of an adjudicator.’ There was a brief spell of silence. ‘In fact, I should be happy to invite you and Kripacharya to my coronation, as I would now like to see peace and amity everywhere.’
Overwhelmed by Yudhishthira’s magnanimity, Asvatthama stood dumbfounded for a while. Then he bowed to him, saying, ‘All glory to you, O Prince of Dharma!’
As Asvatthama walked away, he felt as though he had emerged from darkness into light, from denial into affirmation.