In this section (the story "Bhima and Dushasana," to be more specific), we finally get some resolution to the oath Bhima took back when Y gambled their lives away and Dushasana tried to shame Draupadi. At the time, he swore he'd kill Dushasana and drink his blood, and that's exactly what happens here: Bhima takes the guy on in battle, breaks his back, then chops off his head and drinks his blood. Other soldiers who witness the whole thing run away, saying, "This is not a man." I'm always really interested in that line between human and inhuman—and that grey area between them. In the fact that sometimes humanity is determined by how a person acts or thinks or feels instead of by what they actually are. And characters who muddle that line are always fascinating to me.
One thing that interested me in the previous section of readings was the dynamic between Draupadi and her second husband (of five), Bhima. I found it interesting that, even though her first two picks for concurrent husbands were Arjuna and Y, she actually seems closest to Bhima, and vice versa. When she was in trouble with the king's brother-in-law, she went to Bhima for help; he came through for her, and she stuck around to see the carnage. They're both also clearly the type to take dark blood oaths involving the lifeblood of their enemies (or in this case, a shared enemy). So I was also struck by the fact that, when the Pandava brothers finally took on their enemy cousin in "Duryodhana in the Lake," it was Bhima—not leader Y or golden child Arjuna—who killed the Big Bad. Not only that, but then: He danced round Duryodhana a time, then, kicking his enemy's head, cried out at length, "Draupadi is avenged." You'd think, since they're all brothers and all also husbands of Draupadi, that the rest of the Pandavas would approve. But instead: Yudhishthira was wroth; he smote Bhima on the face and said, "O accursed villain, thou wilt cause all men to speak ill of us." All this to say, I guess, that Bhima is the Pandava for me, and I find the idea of him interesting, especially in the context of his relationship with his wife, his brothers, and his enemies.
Bhishma gets wounded in the big war, and everyone knows he's dying, but he's still moved to a different location, and it's mentioned that he'll see the war's end before he actually dies. Later, in "The Pandavas and Bhishma," it's revealed that his slow death process is attributed to a supernatural ability he's been given: "the gift of choosing the moment of his own death." The introduction to this segment of the story explains that he's "waiting for the solstice, and before he dies he will instruct the survivors of the battle on how to rule the world that has survived." There are two things I like about this: 1) The idea of someone with a gift like that on their deathbed, prolonging death to either accomplish something by it or wait to see some kind of outcome, and 2) I'm always a sucker for "looking forward at the world that's survived" tropes. I'm not sure if I'd use this as inspiration for a weekly story or not, but it has potential. Duly noted.
I also found the father-son dynamic between Arjuna and his child really interesting in "King Yudhishthira's Horse." Arjuna is traveling from country to country, claiming new lands for his brother the king. Eventually, he comes across a rajah, who recognizes the king's name and claims to be Arjuna's son. But Arjuna scorns him, saying that if he were his son, he wouldn't be afraid of Arjuna. A fight breaks out between them, and the son kills his father in the battle, but then regrets it and helps bring him back to life. I'm less interested in adapting that part, and more intrigued in that initial dynamic between father and son: the high-ranking dad who wanders from place to place and is approached by this kid who swears to be his, but the dad doesn't recognize him (he has plenty of kids) and isn't going to be quick to claim him. More than anything else, I'm curious about how the kid would respond to that, what she/he would do to win the dad's approval, and how their dynamic would evolve as they worked somewhat alongside each other.
This is just a minor detail, especially compared to some of the notes above, but a small line in "Parikshit" really caught my attention: Krishna had already given some sort of promise and in view of the fact he never uttered a falsehood, he uttered the words ‘Let this child revive.’ It could be interesting to play with the idea of a character who always tells the truth—not because he's an honest, upstanding guy, but because he literally always has to follow through on what he says. A curse or something, I guess. I think it'd be a lot of fun to look at that grey area between him always being forced to do the right thing, which would in some ways technically make him a good guy, but not actually being a good guy on the inside or, some might say, where it counts. Moral ambiguity is the spice of storytelling life, after all.
Also, I probably wouldn't have any use for this in a weekly story, but this is a powerful line from the above and I have to point it out:"For all, Mother, that you look so happy, do you not mourn your son?" And she answered, "Before, I had only one, Abhimanyu, but now I have many, for I see my boy in every wounded soldier."
In "Horse Sacrifice," Draupadi is officially designated "Queen of the Sacrifice," and that sounds pretty cool.
So far, though, I think "The Forest and its Ghosts" is my favorite installment I've read. After a long while of mourning, a ceremony is arranged and performed, so that all the fallen warriors and "lost ones" everybody's missed return at nightfall. It's only for the one night, of course, but it was really interesting to read about the characters reuniting with fallen family members killed in the war: the blind king and his son, Karna and Kunti, and so on. More than that, there was the imagery of them returning from the waters of the Ganges:
Suddenly the waters began to heave and foam, and Vyasa muttered holy words and called out the names of the dead one by one. Soon all the heroes who had been slain arose one by one. In chariots they came, and on horseback and riding upon lordly elephants. They all uttered triumphant cries; drums were sounded and trumpets were blown, and it seemed as if the armies of the Pandavas and Kauravas were once again assembled for battle, for they swept over the river like a mighty tempest.It seems like a great way to play with character dynamics, guilt, mood/atmosphere, and supernatural world-building, so it might be fun to do a story inspired by this one, where the dead get to return for some small interval for some small purpose. And for some personal cost, of course. (Life? Blood? Memory? We'll see.)
Again, this one isn't for a weekly story, but I loved the setup and the death omens in "Death of Krishna," and I'd like to keep them in mind just because they're cool and inspiring.
And then finally, there's "The Afterlife," and one last striking line I might end up using as my weekly inspiration: a description of one of the Pandavas' descendants in heaven as "the star-bright companion of the lord of night."
Bibliography: Mahabharata Online: Public Domain Edition. Source: Laura Gibbs's Indian Epics blog.
Image Credit: Underwater Diving by Unsplash. Source: Pixabay.
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