The Knots
My hand absently traced over the pearls in my necklace as I stared into the oblivion. Time seemed to have lost all meaning in my life. All that I knew was I had lost my sons, the precious parts of my life, to the war and their own greed. I held the wooden horse toy that my eldest son loved when he was a boy. The toy had small cracks, pieced together with much effort, just like my heart.
"Father, you should rest."
I heard Yuyutsu speaking to my husband.
My hands tightened over the toy, biting my lips, almost drawing blood. I felt the loathing I had kept within me for my husband rise to the fore. While I had lost every son of mine, he still had a son from his mistress. The same son who sided with my sons' murderers and thus is alive. And my daughter- She is a war widow who lost everything before she could truly live.
I felt the familiar footsteps near me as I tilted my head, feeling a bitterness seep through me.
"You have no qualms about losing our sons. Why would you? You still have a living son."
I spat with disdain, feeling the pent-up frustration I had had since I was a young bride burst forth.
"Gandhari, I loved our sons more than words could suffice."
His voice shook as I felt an irritation thrum through me, mixed with the empathy that ruined my life.
If I scream at him and bruise him, will that get everything back?
"Gandhari, where are you going?"
He asked me as I stood up, adjusting my blindfold.
I didn't reply as I walked out of the chamber. I knew he wouldn't follow me with concern; fifty years of being with him taught me to never expect anything from him. I walked across the aisle that felt familiar but strange, for now it was ruled by the victors of the war.
I was once the queen, and now I am a refugee at the mercy of the current emperor, my own nephew, whose righteousness got him what belonged to him.
I walked to the other side of the palace towards the small trapdoor, which led to the banks of the Ganga River. The moment I stepped out of the palace, the chill night breeze hit me, making me shiver. I wrapped the loose end of my saree around myself as I began to walk, the scrape of my sandals the only noise against the dead cold.
The air still had an acrid metallic scent; I did not know if I was imagining it. The war had shifted my senses. Each time I closed my eyes, I only saw the battlefield, my dead brother, my dead sons, and my dead grandsons.
I walked and settled on the bank of the Ganga, where the ashes of the martyrs were dissolved. My sons, who once ruled the Kingdom of Hastinapura, were considered one among many when they died.
My hand came across to caress the red knotted thread I wore on my wrist. I let my fingers fumble with the knots.
I had tied the first knot when I was a child, scared of monsters in the dark. One of my friends had told me they keep monsters away.
I untied it, for my entire life had plunged into a darkness where everyone was a monster, even me.
I untied the second knot, which I had tied when I got a wedding proposal from the blind prince Dhritarashtra of Hastinapura. That was when I tied my eyes with a red scarf to live the life he had lived since birth
It deserved to be unknotted, for I now understood it wasn't sacrifice but stupidity.
The third knot was tied when kingship robbed me of the man whom I married, the man I loved and was equally loved by. The moment he took a maid to his bed, deliberately in the chamber adjacent to mine with thin walls, making me hear through them and spiral relentlessly, blaming myself for his drift.
Why?
Because I hadn't given him an heir, while his brother got a son. The same brother who got the throne in spite of being younger, simply because my husband was blind.
I untied it, for what meaning did the agony in my young heart give me? Though my husband wasn't happy, he was still content. It was me getting crushed with each passing moment.
The fourth knot was when I held on to my eldest son, pressing him against my bosom when everyone wanted to abandon him. It was simply because his cries sounded ominous with the excess rainfall and the vultures in the sky.
Now he was gone; I could not hold him back.
He needed liberation. I untied it.
The fifth knot was when Kunti and her sons stepped into the palace after her widowhood. Her second son pushed my sons off the trees, breaking their heads. My eldest poisoned his cousin in return, hearing my brother Shakuni's venomous whispers and his own resentment. Shakuni conveniently stepped back when it was discovered.
I tied it to withhold my rage, but what did rage hold when I would never see them again?
The sixth knot was tied when my sons drifted apart from me. They sided with their father, choosing him over me due to their ardent thirst for power. They treated me like I was dispensable in their lives.
What did competitiveness with my husband give me when there was an imbalance?
The seventh knot was when my sons dishonored their cousin's wife in an open court of men. They gambled her over as if she were an object, not a woman. I have my qualms with her, as she belongs to the victor's side.
But wasn't it my own fault for not teaching my sons to treat women with respect, even when they were given every chance to fulfill their vile desires of seeing a woman's body that nurtures life?
Was it my blindfold or my mind that was silent when they tried to disrobe her?
Why keep this knot, a shame of my disgraceful escapism from what mattered , choosing silence?
The eighth knot was when my son rejected the peace treaty. His cousins requested merely five villages; they were five and would rule one village each, if not the kingdom. Peace would be restored, and he could keep his kingdom. But my son chose war over peace, his greed destroying his senses.
I tugged the knot free.
What is the use of wallowing after everything has been destroyed?
The ninth knot was when I watched people perish and fall.
People were always temporary.
Wasn't it my mistake to seek permanence?
The tenth knot was when grief took over my senses and I cursed Krishna, the King of Dwarka, with whispers of him being a god surrounding him. I cursed his clan to perish just like mine did; he did not halt the war even when he possessed the power. He had embraced me and the kindness shattered me.
If I had been a good mother, they would have still lived.
The thread came loose from my wrist as I touched it for one last time. I held it against the waves of water, letting it waft away from me.
From this moment, my life belongs to the Lord till he grants me mercy from this world, where breathing hurts.
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Ps : One of the one shots, I wrote in a brainwave.
