Leaving his chariot behind, Yudhishthira now waded through the pools of blood in which lay the dead bodies of soldiers and carcasses of elephants and horses. What a difference, he thought, between the incense pervading the central hall of the royal palace, and the stench rising from these dead bodies. As he drew close to Bheeshma, his heart started pounding. How would he announce to him the end of the war − and should he also tell him about the gruesome murder of Draupadi’s sons?
As Bheeshma saw a figure approaching him in the darkness of the late evening, he turned his head and asked, ‘Who is it?’
‘I am Yudhishthira, dear Pitamaha.’
‘I am absolutely delighted to see you, dear child,’ said Bheeshma, now trying to turn his head towards him. ‘Although Radheya, Duryodhana and several others have visited me, it was you I wanted to meet. Because there are things I can share only with you.’ He heaved a deep sigh, and then added: ‘But first, tell me if you have come alone or with somebody else.’
‘Alone, Pitamaha,’ responded Yudhishthira.
‘Good! Because if you had come with Vasudeva, it would have been very embarrassing for us. He is a divine being, you know, while we are both mortals. In any case, three is always a crowd.’
‘Indeed.’
‘And now, tell me what news you have brought me. Is it all over – the war?’
‘Yes, Pitamaha. In fact, I am coming to you directly from my coronation.’
‘Excellent news,’ Bheeshma said, trying to look closely at Yudhishthira. ‘So you are now the king of Hastinapur and Indraprastha. My dream has come true and truth has prevailed. If only my father, Santanu, had been alive today!’ He broke off. ‘But one cannot have everything one wants.’ He paused. ‘Come to my right side so that I may caress your face. You know, if I had the strength, I would have got up to embrace the victor of Kurukshetra.’
‘Victor?’ Yudhishthira said, sardonically. ‘I feel like a victor who has lost to the vanquished. What price I have paid to reclaim my throne?’ Then, after a pause, he added, ‘I may tell you that my coronation was very simple, without any fanfare.’
‘Well, it is your simplicity and humility that will win you the respect and devotion of your subjects.’
Yudhishthira bowed his head to acknowledge the old man’s compliment. Then he resumed: ‘But Pitamaha, I had a special purpose for visiting you this evening. I have some questions for you.’
‘Go ahead, dear Yudhishthira.’
‘Now that I am on the verge of losing you forever, I want you to share with me what you have learnt during your life. Your life has spanned several generations. A moment ago, you said that truth has prevailed. But what is truth? I would like to hear your concept of it, because the voice of human experience is always more authentic than that of divinity, such as Vasudeva’s, for instance.’
There was now a long silence during which Bheeshma’s forehead became deeply furrowed, as if he were lost in deep introspection. Then he spoke: ‘Truth? Let me say at the very outset that it is a tangled web. It is like a carpet’s design with its central thread missing. It is like a musical notation with its keynote absent, or it is a sentence without a verb. No wonder then that we often feel confounded while confronting it. We look for it out somehwere while it is right there within ourselves. But are we willing to recognize its incoherence and paradoxes? Think about my vow of celibacy. When I pledged it, I felt like a tusker with its feet chained to a banyan’s trunk. I confess, however, that there were moments when I felt like breaking loose, root and branch.’
‘Why didn’t you do it?’
‘Think of the missing thread in a carpet’s design,’ Bheeshma said, smiling.
‘Wasn’t I also shackled,’ said Yudhishthira, ‘by the terms of that game of dice? So, helplessly, I saw Draupadi being disrobed in that open assembly. You may have then seen my head hanging like a withered branch. And that lie I uttered when I told Drona that Asvatthama was dead. Still I am called the Prince of Righteousness – Dharmaputra!’
‘Then what about me?’ joined in Bheeshma. ‘Why didn’t I do something to defend the honour of a lady in distress? And yet, both Pandavas and Kauravas, always looked upon me as an icon of honour and chivalry.’
‘What agonies you must have undergone while facing truth in its diverse guises, O Pitamaha!’
‘Indeed, it was like walking over a bed of burning coals,’ Bheeshma said, his eyes now looking sideways. ‘But let me tell you that it is only fire that teaches you – if only you could understand its language. You know, it speaks in a multitude of tongues – never one word, one colour or one sound. It hisses, shrieks, sings and sighs. It is both destroyer and creator. Like truth.’ He paused. ‘Look at my body, riddled with Arjuna’s arrows as they came flaming towards me from behind Sikhandi. And I always loved him as my dearest child. The wounds on my body are one thousand, like the thousand names of Vishnu. But each wound is an eye that has perceived a different facet of truth. How unfortunate are those who see only the rainbow and hear only the spring’s melody! The way to see is to go blind, the way to fly is to crawl on one’s belly, and the way to marvel at the sky’s splendour is to lie on a bed of arrows. Strait and painful is the way to dharma.’
‘Too baffling,’ said Yudhishthira. ‘It seems that you are taking me into some maze – through dark cellars, revolving mirrors and cobwebs.’ He paused. ‘Tell me, dear grandfather, is there any escape from this maze?’
‘Indeed, there is,’ came the prompt response. ‘It is karma – disinterested action. You know, I also heard Krishna say this to Arjuna before the war started. I could read his lips when he spoke, as the two armies stood poised against each other. But there was a great difference between the Lord and me. While I stood armed to the hilt, at the head of the Kaurava army, Krishna just held the reins of Arjuna’s horses, himself unarmed. I knew from the very beginning that the Pandavas would emerge victorious.’ Then, after a deep sigh, he resumed: ‘My pledge to my father Santanu now stands redeemed. He wanted me to protect the throne of Hastinapur, whoever sat on it. And now that it is in safe hands, it is time for me to go.’
Then followed another long spell of silence.
‘Now you may return to Hastinapur, dear child, and leave me alone. I cannot let Yama wait for me any longer. I should now leave this bed of arrows to seek reunion with my mother, Ganga, who has waited too long for me – too long!’
Yudhishthira knelt to kiss Bheeshma’s feet. Then, with his head bowed and eyes tearful, he trudged away, still thinking about what he had learnt from his grandfather.