Prelude:
Ashwatthama stood face to face with Shri Krishna and the Pandavas in Sage Vyasa's Ashram. He had stealthily avenged his father's death in the dead of night, and the furious Pandavas had confronted him. Upon seeing them alive, Ashwatthama invoked the Brahmashirastra from a blade of grass, leading Arjuna to counter with his own Brahmashirastra. When Sage Vyasa intervened and commanded them to withdraw their weapons, Arjuna complied, but Ashwatthama redirected the Brahmastra towards the womb of Princess Uttara in an attempt to end the lineage of the Pandavas. Lord Krishna saved Princess Uttara's unborn child from the effects of the Bramhshirastra.
The Curse:
In the dimly lit Ashram, the atmosphere was charged with a palpable tension. Lord Krishna's usually calm and soothing voice now boomed across the room with an uncharacteristic severity.
"This is such a despicable act unworthy of a warrior of your stature, Ashwatthama!" Lord Krishna's voice echoed.
"KILL ME THEN!" Ashwatthama roared, shaking the very foundations of the Ashram, "I have avenged my father and have nothing to live for!"
"Precisely!" Lord Krishna declared. "It's precisely for this reason that you will, henceforth, roam in the forests until the end of the Kali Yuga with blood and pus oozing out of your injuries and cry for death! But death, Ashwatthama, will elude you, for it is a mercy you do not deserve!"
There was a shocked silence.
Lord Krishna advanced towards the stricken warrior, who seemed to slowly realize the gravity of his actions, which he'd done in a blind rage. The simple cowherd plucked the gem from the warrior's forehead as his eyes widened.
"Is - is there... Is there no repentance for this act, Krishna?" Ashwatthama asked, his voice breaking.
Lord Krishna slowly tilted his head to the side. "You will reclaim this gem at the appointed time. That moment will come at the end of the Kali Yuga, until when you shall remain unseen."
"How, Krishna?" Ashwatthama asked.
Lord Krishna sighed, "Like this Dwapara Yuga, there will come a time, even in the Kali Yuga, when Adharma will be on its increase. I will have to take another incarnation to end all the evil. Just as my uncle Kamsa sought to prevent my birth, so too will forces in the Kali Yuga attempt to thwart my arrival as Kalki. It will be your duty, Ashwatthama, to protect my parents and ensure my birth. Only then will you be worthy of this gem once more."
"So be it!" Ashwatthama bowed. "As repentance for my acts, I shall vanish into the remotest corners, never to be seen in any one place!"
The Yadava king nodded, his divine presence filling the cave with solemn finality.
Ashwatthama began his long, solitary journey. He covered his wounds with pieces of cloth that he could find.
Centuries passed by. The son of Drona watched with rising horror as kingdoms invaded one another, people looted, violated, and destroyed one another, destructive wars were declared by dictators all over the world, pandemics and other disasters took millions of lives, and people continued to suffer under tyrants with different names.
Kali Yuga: 1944 C.E.
The world had changed beyond recognition. Humans continued to suffer more than ever as their tormentors revelled in their sadistic acts against all creatures of the earth, including their fellow human beings. An entire world war had occurred, but it wasn't enough to satisfy the ruthlessness of tyrants. The Second World War was now in full motion.
René Delacour, an eleven-year-old, knew he and his parents were in grave danger. The Nazis had captured them and cruelly separated them. Shivering against the biting cold winds of the night, René wept in silent agony, his young heart heavy with fear and despair. He was ready for death at any moment. As the first rays of dawn began to pierce the darkness, a rough hand clamped over his mouth from behind. René's body tensed, but he did not struggle.
“I will NOT be taken away!” He protested weakly. But, it did not seem to work.
Resigned to his fate, he began to run through the memories of his short life - as a baby, as a toddler with his parents, and attending school with his friends. The last thing he saw was poor Anne Frank. Her eyes, wide with horror, met his, and at that moment, René felt a chilling confirmation of his imminent death.
"Maman!" He wept. "Papa! I am sorry!" His small frame trembled with fear, and his eyes were streaming. The cold, the darkness, and the terror all seemed to close around him, suffocating him with their relentless grip.
He was going to die - he knew it. Even if this tall, older man was taking him outside the camps.
Wait...? Outside the camps?
The man, he could see in the sunlight, was not a Nazi soldier. Standing at an extraordinary height of 9 feet, his robust build and formidable presence were unlike anything René had ever seen. He had blood and pus oozing out of him and was covered with damp pieces of cloth. He wore grey robes and ran with an agility that betrayed his age and flowing white beard.
Nazi Interrogation Room:
In a dimly lit Nazi interrogation room, a rough hand shoved Anne Frank inside. The officer dismissed the guard with a curt wave and turned his piercing gaze on her.
"Frank, is it? Anne Frank? We have reports that you saw the intruders. Tell us what you know." He barked in German.
"Wasn't that man one of you?" Anne Frank asked defiantly.
"What did he look like?" The officer demanded, leaning forward.
"Would you not know if he's one of you?" Anne Frank shot back.
"Don't give back answers!" The officer bellowed, slamming his fist on the table.
Anne held her ground, her resolve unshaken, "Well, I regret to inform you that I will not be able to help in this regard."
"Why not?" the officer snarled, his patience wearing thin.
"Because I don't know him. All I saw was a shadow escaping in the dim light. I don't know who they were or where they went." Anne Frank responded.
"You expect us to believe that you saw nothing unusual?" The officer glared.
All he received was a glare back at him, "Yes!"
The officer's face twisted with fury, "Lies will not save you. We have ways of making you talk."
"I don't know anything about them." Anne shook her head.
The officer leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing her, "If we find out you're lying, there will be consequences." He barked and dismissed her.
Shadows of War:
Meanwhile, in the shadows of the war-torn city, Ashwatthama and René Delacour were making their way through the deserted streets. René sat on Ashwatthama's shoulder. Ashwatthama had a protective hand on the boy, his other hand holding his staff. The sounds of distant gunfire and the occasional explosion echoed in the background, a constant reminder of the danger that lurked around every corner.
"We must remain ever vigilant, for the Nazis shall not cease their pursuit of us," Ashwatthama panted, still on the lookout as he shielded René. "Any misstep could lead them directly to our midst!"
They had found temporary refuge in an abandoned building. The walls were scarred with bullet holes, and the air was thick with the smell of smoke and decay. After catching their breath, knowing they had only a brief respite, they moved into the shadows out of the city.
"Who - who are you?" René asked, his voice trembling. "You don't look your age."
"What dost thou mean?" Ashwatthama said, pausing to look for threats.
"You're so strong and fast for someone so old! Maybe if..." René began, but the old warrior shushed him just then, "Not now, boy!"
Just then, a group of men in Nazi uniforms turned the corner. Ashwatthama quickly retreated to a shadowed wall, pulling René close, his heart thumping madly. The boy's whimpers were barely audible, but Ashwatthama could sense his fear. Desperately, he scanned the area for an escape route, but there was none.
"We—we are trapped!" René seemed on the verge of tears, which caused him to sneeze suddenly. The soldiers stood still.
"What was that?" One gruff-looking man barked in German, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the area.
"It came from there!" A second soldier pointed at the corner where Ashwatthama and René were hiding.
"Oh, no!" René shook, sweating profusely.
Ashwatthama scanned the corner yet again. There was no way out. The footsteps of the Nazis grew louder, their shadows stretching ominously on the ground as they approached.
Ashwatthama braced for the fight, his muscles tensing - he would not let them take away this boy.
The soldiers were now ten feet away, their boots crunching on the gravel. Ashwatthama could see the cold determination in their eyes. Just as he was about to spring into action, a sudden, wild screeching filled the air.
Out of nowhere, a group of monkeys pounced from above, their shrill cries piercing the dawn. The soldiers were taken entirely by surprise.
"Aargh!!"
"Ouch! It bit my finger!"
"Let me go!!"
The soldiers cried out in pain and confusion as the monkeys clawed and bit at them, driving them back. The chaos was overwhelming. Ashwatthama watched in astonishment as the monkeys, led by a particularly large and fierce one, relentlessly attacked the soldiers. The Nazis, unable to fend off the unexpected assault, retreated in disarray, their shouts fading into the distance.
Just then, the large monkey turned and met Ashwatthama's eyes. It seemed to be carrying a packet with a gaze filled with intelligence and casting an aura of strength. Ashwatthama's breath caught in his throat, looking bewildered. The monkey's presence was overwhelming, its power unmistakable. Ashwatthama stared, but the monkey did not respond except sit up as though waiting.
The monkey calmly handed over its packet to Ashwatthama, a look of understanding passing between them. Opening it, Ashwatthama found a brioche!
Eyes watering out of gratitude, Ashwatthama folded his hands, "I - I am rendered speechless, my Lord!"
"What?" René asked as the monkey gestured ahead.
Ashwatthama chose not to respond, instead clearing his throat and handing over the brioche to René as he began following the monkey.
"Here, partake of this, young one! I heard thee call out to whom I presume are thy parents. I regret to voice my thoughts regarding the fate these fiends may have wrought upon them!" He said with a rough voice.
When René hesitated, Ashwatthama took a bite and offered the brioche, "This food is safe. Thou mayest consume it."
René, driven by hunger, took the bread and began to eat voraciously, possibly for the first time in days.
"Lord - Lord Hanuman? Is it truly thee?" Ashwatthama said in a voice filled with emotion. This time, René did not repeat his question.
The monkey patiently led them away from the area by first looking around and beckoning to Ashwatthama when the path was clear. Navigating through the city's labyrinthine alleys and avoiding patrols rewarded them with the air of freedom of the countryside as the sun stealthily went up and the skies cleared. The stark contrast between the urban devastation and the rural desolation was striking. The remnants of war marred the landscape—burnt-out vehicles, crumbling buildings, and fields turned to mud by the relentless march of soldiers.
The monkey stopped at one point and looked at Ashwatthama. René still hadn't finished the brioche. When Ashwatthama looked back at where the monkey stood, it had vanished. Taking it as a sign that they must keep moving, Ashwatthama proceeded along the path.
Eventually, they stumbled upon an old, abandoned farmhouse. Ashwatthama paused, scanning the area for any signs of life. Satisfied that they were alone, he gently placed René by the farmhouse with a sigh of relief.
As he ate, René couldn't help but wonder. "Who could you possibly be? And what was that stuff with the monkey?" he asked, much to the apparent amusement of the older man, who chuckled.
"Address me as Ashwa!" he declared, a twinkle in his eye. "That was no ordinary monkey, young one!"
"You look like you could beat them up easily! I saw you getting prepared to fight them before the monkeys came! Why don't you take them down?" René asked, pointing in the direction they had just come from.
Mr. Ashwa shook his head. "I am upon a mission, young one. I am destined to safeguard a particular individual upon his arrival in this world. That person shall deliver you all from such fiends."
"But...?" René began, but Ashwa quickly hoisted him onto his shoulder.
"Woah!" René exclaimed, his mouth full of bread. "You're far too powerful for your age!"
"That I am! Now, swiftly finish thy meal, young one. Let me see how far I can take thee from their grasp!" The man began walking swiftly.
"Where are you from?" René keenly observed him.
Ashwatthama's mind drifted back to his homeland. India was under the grip of British, French, Dutch, and Portuguese colonization. Two years back, Ashwatthama had been a silent participant in the Quit India Movement. People had looked up at him with awe and fear due to his height and age, but he had ignored them, simply focusing on the slogan.
Someone had nudged him, "You look too powerful to be here. Why don't you fight using might?"
Ashwatthama had looked at him from top to bottom.
"Introductions, I guess? I am Amir!" He held his hand forward.
Ashwatthama folded his hands. "For me, Amir, restoring Dharma is paramount. If violence is necessary, so be it. Yet, not before we have endeavoured through non-violent means!"
With this declaration, Ashwatthama had hastened his pace away.
As he marched, memories of the past flooded his mind. He remembered how Lord Krishna had tried to reason with the Kauravas to avoid war. Before the Kurukshetra War, Lord Krishna had gone to Hastinapur as a peace envoy on behalf of the Pandavas. He proposed a compromise to prevent the devastating war, asking Duryodhana to give the Pandavas just five villages. But Duryodhana, driven by arrogance and animosity, refused even this modest request. It was only after the failure of all peaceful efforts that Krishna had agreed to the war.
Ashwatthama sighed, thinking of the parallels. Just as Krishna had sought peace before resorting to war, many Indians were striving for freedom through non-violence. But if the oppressors remained obstinate, would violence become inevitable?
For a moment, it seemed as though Amir from the Quit India movement materialized in front of Ashwatthama. With one glance, he asked him, “Why are you helping the enemy?”
“What enemy?” Ashwatthama looked confused.
Amir pointed at René. “Well, he is a European! He is one of them! The enemy!”
The Europeans were colonizers of his land. After all, the French, like the British, had occupied several parts of the country. But René was a helpless victim—a little boy caught amid a war he did not understand. Ashwatthama was not helping the enemy—he was helping a victim. The suffering of innocent people, even if it's that of those affected by the atrocities of World War II, should have nothing to do with the oppressors of the same nation or community. After all, weren't Ravana and Vibhishana brothers? How could one hate Vibhishana just for being Ravana's brother?
Ashwatthama watched as Amir disappeared, only to be replaced with Vibhishana who seemed to be in the distance. Ashwatthama looked beyond the horizon. Vibhishana, like Lord Hanuman and himself, was also an immortal. Ashwatthama wondered where Vibhishana and the immortals would be right now. The image of the monkey that had led them out of peril flashed in his mind, and he understood. They were doing their part to uplift the oppressed.
"How can you know who will arrive or when? Are you a seer?" René's voice brought him to the present. Vibhishana seemed to disappear. René had evidently been involved in thoughts of his own.
"I am no seer, young one, but a warrior from a bygone era! I speak of prophecies made long before this age commenced!" Ashwatthama declared.
"Who is that person arriving into this world?" René questioned.
"He is known by many names, young one! I know him as Kalki!" Ashwatthama answered as he peered at the crossroads ahead.
"So, who made these prophecies? Was that you?" René asked thickly.
"I don't make prophecies!" Ashwatthama growled. "None of us possess such great abilities in this dark age!"
"You talk as if you're from another 'age', not this one!" René wondered. "What are your abilities, and what's your age, then?"
"My abilities are not for thee to judge, young one! Know that I was cursed to immortality as a result of a despicable act I once committed in a fit of rage!" Ashwatthama picked up his pace as they crossed the street.
"What was that?" The boy asked but received no answer.
As the day passed by, René relaxed considerably. Ashwatthama could sense this by René's yawn as he sat comfortably on his shoulder.
"Are you hungry, young lad?" Ashwatthama asked when he heard René’s stomach rumble.
"Uh-huh? Sure!" René murmured sleepily, resting his little chin on Ashwatthama's head.
With a chuckle, Ashwatthama approached a farmhouse as dusk set in. There was an old farmer and his wife, who, upon seeing the duo, exchanged glances.
"We are journeying to a distant land and have lost our way. Pray, offer us shelter for the night and some sustenance for this young lad," Ashwatthama requested. "In return, I pledge to assist thee with hard labour."
One look at Ashwatthama could tell them that he was strong and a man of honour. The farmer's wife went inside briefly and returned with milk and bread.
“I am Delacour!” René said excitedly Ashwatthama stopped him with a shake of his head before he could reveal his first name,
"We are sorry, dear. We only have the milk from our cattle, and we're ready to share this bread with you!" The farmer wheezed.
"Thou art most kind!" Ashwatthama said, handing the food to René, who insisted that Ashwatthama also partake.
"So, tell us about you." The kind farmer enquired.
"I am but a traveller," Ashwatthama lied, for it was not the time to reveal his true identity.
"He rescued me from those terrible men just this morning!" René said as he gulped the milk. "Do you know what happened?"
"What happened, my child?" The farmer's wife asked kindly.
"Mr. Ashwa and I were on our way when we found ourselves trapped between some Nazis in uniform and a dark corner! I thought we were about to get caught, and Mr. Ashwa was preparing for a duel. And then, out of nowhere, a group of monkeys attacked the soldiers and saved us!"
"Eh?" The lady asked.
"I must have misheard what he said. Dear, could you repeat what the boy said?" The old farmer inquired of his wife.
"He-said-that-a-group-of-monkeys-saved-them!" The lady repeated calmly. She and her husband exchanged puzzled glances after that.
"Are you sure this happened in this country?" The old farmer asked.
"Yes!" René said excitedly.
"I have never seen a monkey in these parts in my entire lifespan of eighty-five years!" The old farmer tilted his head.
His wife nodded in agreement, "He's right. How could there be monkeys here?"
René insisted, "But it's true! They came out of nowhere and drove the soldiers away!"
"Why are you silent, Mr. Ashwa?" René demanded. The old farmer turned his gaze upon Ashwatthama.
"Thank thee for the meal, kind sire and madame," Ashwatthama calmly said.
"Mr. Ashwa, why aren't you supporting me? You even spoke to the monkeys!!" René was exasperated.
"Okay, how about we do this?" The kind woman told René. "You tuck in and sleep tight. We can talk in the morning." As if on cue, René let out a reluctant yawn.
"That's like a good boy." The farmer chuckled as his wife put a blanket on top of René as he lay on the mat. Within moments, the three adults could hear his snores.
As Ashwatthama shifted his gaze from René, he could sense the farmer and his wife whispering.
"Now that he has promised, perhaps we can ask for his help rebuilding our hut?" the lady whispered.
"What? No, they're exhausted. I suggest we give them food and a night's rest and send them off," the farmer said.
"Without taking any help? How do you plan on rebuilding this old hut? We don't have any money either!" His wife reasoned.
Ashwatthama coughed just then, resulting in bewildered looks from the couple. "I humbly request a night's rest. I promise to begin my task at daybreak."
The farmer was pink in the face, "Eh, no need."
But his wife cut in, "Sure, sire! Meanwhile, we will arrange something to eat for your journey."
"Thou art most kind, madame and sire!" Ashwatthama bowed, now making even the farmer's wife go pink.
True to his word, the following dawn saw Ashwatthama at work. He swiftly replaced the bamboo and clay with fresh ones and placed the unburnt bricks and mulch. The farmer and his wife watched with awe as his muscles flexed. René, on the other hand, was kept secure inside the hut for the entire day.
As the sun made to bow after the day’s performance, René stood blocking Ashwatthama's path with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Move aside, lad. This is not for thee." Ashwatthama said gruffly.
"I insist to know why you did not talk of the monkeys yesterday!" René angrily puffed his cheeks.
Ashwatthama stared at René. "There is a time and place for everything, young one. Now is not the time to speak of things that could draw unwanted attention to us. The kind farmer is eighty-five and has never seen a monkey in his life. Does that sound like monkeys are common around here to thee?"
Without waiting for an answer, Ashwatthama made his way as René mulled over his words.
As Ashwatthama picked up a brick, René stood before him again, "But if monkeys are not typically found in Germany...? Where did those monkeys come from?" René inquired.
"Precisely!" Ashwatthama responded. “The unlikeness of it points to divine intervention!”
"Why, then, did you not stop me from speaking of them?" René demanded.
"Experience teaches better than mere words, lad!" Ashwatthama answered. "Also, would it not appear suspicious if I kept forcing thee to be silent every time?"
René could only nod at this, "So, we forget about the monkeys?"
“You will not carelessly mention them," Ashwatthama said calmly. "Why don’t you go and ask if our kind hosts need anything?"
René nodded and ran into the kitchen, where the farmer was sitting cutting vegetables, and his wife was boiling something.
"Mr. Ashwa says I should ask if you need anything." He said cheerfully.
With a chuckle, the farmer said, "No, dear. There is a lovely field nearby. Why don't you go and play?"
René's face lit up. Memories of running in the fields with his friends before the Nazis captured them flooded his mind as he ran out.
"Do not venture far from this place! It’s growing darker!" The farmer called out amidst his wife's chuckles.
The farmer shook his head with a grin, "Kids, I tell you! Mr. Ashwa took your words seriously and has been working since dawn without a break." He wiped the sweat off his brow as the harsh afternoon sun did not deter Ashwatthama in the slightest.
His wife nodded. "We promised to arrange sustenance for their journey, remember?"
The farmer nodded. "Our hens have given us a good supply of eggs. I say we give them the eggs."
"Even better! Let's cook something for them!" The lady's face brightened.
The farmer nodded, "I will borrow some flour from the neighbour. We must make sure our guests don't go hungry when they're on the journey."
Due to his strength and speed, Ashwatthama completed the entire task by nightfall. When he returned and gratefully accepted bread and milk from the farmer's wife, he leaned against the wall. The lady of the house packed something in a bundle and offered it to René.
"This is for you both to have on your journey. Stay safe!" She said gratefully.
The farmer nodded, his eyes shining with gratitude. Ashwatthama bowed in return.
"We shall never forget this kindness, sire!" he said. "We shall depart at daybreak."
"What about your rest?" René said shrilly. "You did not take rest at all today!"
"I am accustomed to work, boy!" Ashwatthama chuckled.
"You can still rest for tomorrow and proceed the day after." The farmer said.
"And I can go to the field tomorrow too!" René's joy knew no bounds.
Ashwatthama shrugged, "So be it! But if there's something, I'd be delighted to help!"
The following day, breakfast was followed by a day of exploring the fields around. René’s eyes were wide and he shouted and laughed like Ashwatthama had never seen him do before.
“You know, Mr. Ashwa? This place reminds me so much of home!!” René swirled around. It was a bit of a contrast to the previous day’s sunny weather, as clouds gathered around noon, Ashwtahhama had sat beneath a tree, watching René build a castle of mud and run around it like a five-year-old.
“Mr. Ashwa, this is the sand castle I had built near my house!” René said. Ashwatthama nodded, as René dropped down beside him panting.
“We lived in a stone house at the edge of a small, quiet village called Saint-Étienne-sur-Loire. It was surrounded by lush fields that stretched far into the distance!” René said, his eyes filling up rapidly.
Despite his loss of breath, he stood up abruptly in an attempt to hide his tears.
“Maman had a song from her childhood that she sang to me every night! It reminds me of the lavender she used to grow in our garden! After returning from the fields every evening, Papa would call out to Maman.”
“He would say, ‘Elise, I’m home! Set the dinner table, love!’ and I would happily ask him if he brought me a new toy!” René stared at the distance, his vision blurred. By now, drops of rain had begun splattering on their faces but neither attempted to find shade.
“Papa would take me fishing at the river every Saturday! Maman would always grin, saying, ‘You should’ve been a fisherman, Jean, not a farmer!’ and he would laugh! I can hear Maman's songs and Papa's laughter even now!” René began sobbing.
Quickly looking away, Ashwatthama cleared his throat gruffly. “I - I understand.”
Images of the Kurukshetra war flashed in Ashwatthama’s head. He could hear Yuddhishtir’s voice boom across the battlefield.
“अश्वत्थमा हतः।” The Sanskrit phrase meant that Ashwatthama was dead, leading to his father, Guru Dronacharya losing the fight in him. Having lost the will to live, Dronacharya stood in shock until Dhristadyumna seized the opportunity to take him down.
Meanwhile, René choked, “My school was in the centre of the village. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Poole. A charming redhead with a smile on her lips! We used to do roleplays and it was so much fun!”
René gave a watery chuckle, “My partner and best friend was Estée. She and I used to play together after school, too!”
Ashwatthama’s mind raced back to how he would watch his father training the Kauravas and Pandavas in childhood. All he could manage was a weak grunt.
René’s face darkened, “They went after Estée and her parents first!”
“What happened?” Ashwatthama exclaimed, taken aback.
René looked back at the old warrior, “That morning, I’d just finished breakfast. Maman was washing the dishes when we heard the sound of boots marching on the cobblestone street outside!”
“I can still hear the officers saying, “Ouvrez la porte! Ouvrez, immédiatement!” I don’t remember what happened after that but we were separated and taken away. I was in the back of a military truck parked outside! They had shot Estée and her parents dead two streets away! They say that Mrs. Poole had gone into hiding to escape them. In fact, the last time I saw Maman and Papa was when we got down wherever they took us and I was taken away from them as they shouted!” René covered his face.
Ashwatthama quickly rushed over and pulled him into a bear hug, struggling to maintain composure. While Ashwatthama had sought revenge for how his father was killed in the Kurukshetra war, killing people at night and killing an unborn child was not the right means to go about it. But René had no means of seeking revenge.
“I am sorry to hear this!” Ashwatthama said in a weak and broken voice. René’s sobs were muffled by Ashwatthama’s robes.
Ashwatthama knew it was better for René to vent out his feelings instead of bottling them up. Frankly, he didn’t know what more to say. René‘s mud castle had collapsed to the rain much like René’s family.
Wiping away his tears, René looked up, “You’ve been crying, too, haven’t you? It must be hard for warriors like you to lose family and friends and yet continue fighting, isn’t it? And to live for so long while watching them all go to the grave”
“You continue to surprise me, boy. I have met few adults as mature as you!” Ashwatthama declared.
Drenched to the skin, the duo walked back slowly, for the weight of memories seemed heavier than the heavy rain itself. To the farmer and his wife, they’d just caught a cold in the rain. They sat in relative silence, lost in their thoughts, with the farmer and wife laying out blankets for their rest. By dawn the next day, the duo showed no signs of having a cold.
“Thank you very much!” Ashwatthama said with a bow.
“It means a lot!” René said.
“Be alert. These days, we can’t differentiate between enemies and allies!” The farmer cautioned.
“I understand! It’s war!” Ashwatthama said.
Of Humans Across Time:
“Tell me about the war you were part of. Was it as bad as this one?” René spoke for the first time since they left the farmer and his wife. They were now inside a dense forest.
Ashwatthama's mind drifted back to the battlefield of Kurukshetra. The memories were vivid, the sounds of clashing weapons and the cries of warriors echoing in his ears.
"It was far graver than this!" Ashwatthama replied, his voice trembling with an involuntary shiver. "That marked the end of the Dwapara Yuga, young lad. Wars bring out the worst in people. Future wars in the Kali Yuga shall be more catastrophic than this one!"
René was pale, “Even worse than this war?”
Ashwatthama’s silence seemed to give him the answer.
“Oh, no. Why do wars happen, Mr. Ashwa?” René asked a short while later.
“Power, greed, money, community clashes - you name it. Conflicts have always been part of mankind’s history.” Ashwatthama slowed down his pace.
“Is it good or bad?” René asked.
"In eternal struggle betwixt good and evil, when malevolence doth prevail, war is among the last recourses to restore righteousness. Yet, at times, war is inevitable. Lord Krishna himself endeavoured to avert the conflict," Ashwatthama reminisced.
“What happened?” René asked.
"Not even Lord Krishna could dissuade Duryodhana from his self-destructive and foolish deeds!" Ashwatthama barked.
René looked up at him, his eyes wide with curiosity. "Did you ever regret fighting in the war?"
"Duryodhana had aided Karna and I; thus, we were bound by debt to him. We fought on his side of the conflict." Ashwatthama explained. “Like it or not, we often face difficult choices.”
“Who were Duryodhana and Karna?” René asked.
"Duryodhana was the first-born son of King Dhritarashtra and Queen Gandhari, the eldest of the Kauravas, and the crown prince of the Kuru Kingdom, whose capital was Hastinapur. Karna was the son of the sun god, Surya, and Princess Kunti, abandoned at birth due to Kunti's fear of societal judgment upon an unmarried woman with a child," Ashwatthama replied. “Karna was the oldest of the Pandavas that way!”
René's eyes widened with fascination. "So, Karna was a Pandava too? But he fought against them?"
Ashwatthama nodded. “Since Duryodhana had aided him, albeit in different ways than he aided me, Karna felt bound by debt to fight on his side. The Pandavas did not welcome him, and that, too, played a part.”
“Why did everyone discriminate against Karna?” René asked.
"He was born to an unmarried woman and cast away at birth, later adopted by a charioteer. People did not take kindly to such a man calling himself a Kshatriya. Remember, boy, Both Arjuna and Karna were exceedingly more powerful than I!" Ashwatthama declared, making René's eyes almost pop out of their sockets.
“I thought you were the most powerful of them all!” René said.
Ashwatthama let out a hearty laugh. “Nay, boy. That is a fundamental mistake man often makes—assuming he is the best. Arjuna was leagues ahead of me! As for him, Karna was ahead. And dost thou know what? There were mightier warriors both during the Mahabharata and in ages past!”
“Like?” René asked.
“Like those in the Ramayana. This was during the time of Lord Ram. Lord Krishna, who will reincarnate as Kalki, was Lord Ram back then!” Ashwatthama said.
“I am confused. How can one person be three?” René's mind reeled.
“Not only God, boy, but even man takes countless births in this mortal realm!” Ashwatthama said. “Thou couldst be René Delacour in this birth. In countless other births before and after this one, thou couldst be a girl or a boy, a human or an animal, a plant or an insect. Thou wilt not remember past lives. As for God, Lord Ram, Lord Krishna, and Kalki are Avatars that He takes to vanquish evil when there is too much of it for too long.”
“Thou shalt understand as time passes, lad,” Ashwatthama said. “The point is that even during the time of Lord Ram, there were warriors, and there was war!”
“Why?” René asked.
“In a broader context, Lord Ram, Lord Krishna, and Kalki, all Avatars of Lord Vishnu, fight wars to defeat evil and bring about righteousness,” Ashwatthama explained. “In the context of the Ramayana, the Asura king, Ravana, had kidnapped Goddess Sita, Lord Ram’s wife!”
“What??” René was shocked.
Ashwatthama nodded. “Lord Ram’s story is called the Ramayana. The Mahabharata, the epoch whence I hail, refers to the tale of cousins—the Kauravas and the Pandavas.”
“Cousins? You mean to say something like… Karna supported his cousins over his own brothers?” René asked.
“It was a war between cousins - yes.” Ashwatthama said.
“But you weren’t related to them, were you?” René asked.
“Guru Dronacharya was the teacher of the Kauravas and the Pandavas. We were bound by duty to support the older of the cousins - King Dhritarashtra’s children over Pandu’s children.” Ashwatthama explained.
“Who was Pandu? You mentioned only Dhritarashtra. He was the king, wasn’t he?” René asked.
“Yes, his younger brother was Pandu.” Ashwatthama explained.
“Did the brothers not stop their kids from going to war?” René asked.
“It is far more complex than you think. Pandu and his second wife, Madri, were dead. His first wife, Kunti, took care of the five Pandavas. Her children with Pandu, namely Yuddhishtira, Bheema, and Arjuna, as well as Pandu’s children with Madri, namely Nakula and Sahadeva. Dhritarashtra was blind, and his wife, Gandhari, had blindfolded herself out of duty to her husband. Their children - Duryodhana being the eldest - are called Kauravas.” Ashwatthama explained.
“You say the Ramayana war took place because Goddess Sita was kidnapped. What happened in the Mahabharata…?” René asked.
“Land, power, and lust!” Ashwatthama’s face darkened. “The Mahabharata is more complex than the Ramayana. There are too many grey characters, such as I! Thou wouldst not think someone who saved thee from the Nazis had stealthily killed people in their camps at night and even attempted to take an unborn’s life, wouldst thou?”
René was stunned. “That was the despicable thing you did because of which you were cursed?”
Ashwatthama nodded, “Lord Krishna saved the unborn baby, who grew up to rule the Kuru state. I’ve never met him personally, but I have heard a great deal about him. The Kali Yuga started during his time.”
“Was he good?” René asked.
Ashwatthama looked at the sky, “He was among the best! But even he couldn’t halt the influence of Kali.”
“You say the Mahabharata war was disastrous. I’m assuming the Ramayana war…?” René said cautiously.
“You are right. Scores of Vanaras, Rakshasas, and others died.” Ashwatthama explained grimly.
They walked in heavy silence for a while, the forest around them alive with the sounds of nature. Their journey was long and arduous. René broke the silence, his voice thoughtful. "Do you think there will ever be a time without wars?"
“It is hard to say. As long as there are differences and desires, conflicts shall arise,” Ashwatthama said.
As the duo sat to rest by a tree, René looked at Ashwatthama, “If this is the Kali Yuga, what is the period you’re from?”
“There are Four Yuga’s, René. The first one is the Satya Yuga, also called the Kritha Yuga. The second is the Treta Yuga - when the Ramayana took place. I am from the Dwapara Yuga, the third Yuga. It’s when the Mahabharata took place. Kali Yuga is the last one - the current age.” Ashwatthama explained.
“Tell me more about each one of them.” René was curious.
“The Kritha Yuga is the Golden Age. Let’s just say people lived in peace and harmony. There were no wars and no suffering. Then came the Silver Age. This was the Treta Yuga, where some forms of conflict had begun taking place. As I said, the demon king, Ravana, kidnapped Goddess Sita amidst many other evil actions. My time, the Dwapara Yuga, is known as the Bronze Age. This is where human relationships became complex, and wars became more frequent. We are currently in the Kali Yuga, which is called the Iron Age. Wars like this-” Ashwatthama pointed in the direction they came from, “are much more common than in the past. It is bound to worsen until Kalki comes over.” Ashwatthama said.
“Who is the God taking form as Kalki?” René asked.
Ashwatthama smiled, “Good question. But first, you should know the Trinity.”
“I know! The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit!” René said excitedly.
Ashwatthama chuckled, “That is in the Christian faith. In my faith, called the Sanatana Dharma, the trinity refers to…”
“Lord Ram, Lord Krishna, and Kalki!!” René said confidently.
Ashwatthama couldn’t help but laugh, “Oh, dear. I haven’t laughed so much since ages!”
“Glad I could make you laugh! I’m right, am I not?” René asked.
“The Holy Trinity in Sanatana Dharma refers to Lord Brahma - the Creator; Lord Vishnu - the protector; and Lord Shiva - the destroyer,” Ashwatthama said.
“Destroyer?” René’s eyes widened with fear.
“Of Evil!” Ashwatthama pacified him.
René nodded slowly, trying to grasp the concept. “So, they are different ways of understanding God?”
“Aye, precisely,” Ashwatthama replied. “Different cultures and religions have their own ways of perceiving the divine. In Sanatana Dharma, we have Lord Brahma, Lord Vishnu, and Lord Shiva.”
“Uh-huh?” René listened intently.
“Lord Brahma’s role is to create. Not only humans but also various living beings. Lord Brahma is not typically associated with avatars in the same way as Lord Vishnu and Lord Shiva.” Ashwatthama explained. “Of the ten Avatars that Lord Vishnu took, Lord Ram and Lord Krishna, as well as the future Kalki, are some of the prominent Avatars. As for Lord Shiva, he has taken several manifestations across the Yugas.” Ashwatthama said.
“Can you tell me some stories from your time?” René asked, yawning.
Ashwatthama chuckled, “Let us dine first.”
The duo ate in silence. René mulled over everything they’d been discussing while Ashwatthama decided to let his guard loose briefly. A vibrant flash of blue caught his eye, and he watched as the bird’s striking blue and turquoise plumage shimmered in the dappled sunlight.
Soon after, they had finished their meal and leaned against the same tree, with René yawning for the second time.
“Can you tell me a story now?” He asked Ashwatthama.
“Let me tell you the story of Lord Ram from the Ramayana. This is the seventh Avatar of Lord Vishnu, Lord Krishna being the eighth.” Ashwatthama scratched his beard.
“Is Kalki the ninth?” René asked.
“The tenth. The ninth Avatar of Lord Vishnu is said to be Buddha. Some others say that the eighth Avatar of Lord Vishnu was Lord Krishna’s older brother Balaram, which means Lord Krishna was Lord Vishnu’s ninth Avatar. However, Balarama is said to be Sheshnag’s Avatar. Before being born as Balarama, Sheshnag had taken birth as Lakshman, the brother of Lord Ram.” Ashwatthama patted René’s head tenderly as his eyes drooped.
The forest around them seemed to listen to Ashwatthama’s narration. Tall trees with dense canopies swayed gently, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze. The sunlight filtered through the branches, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor.
“How was life in the forests for the princes and the princess?” René asked in wonder amidst the whispers of the wind.
“Thirteen years went by in peace and joy. Lord Ram and Prince Lakshman would look for fruits, nuts, and honey, while Goddess Sita would collect flowers for worship. They lived in harmony with the creatures of the forest.” Ashwatthama breathed softly.
“Sounds so lovely! And we compare animals to monsters in the form of humans!” René said thoughtfully. “Humans aren’t animals, they’re monsters.”
Ashwatthama stared at the opposite tree in response. The boy was right, but he hadn’t expected a boy so young to say something so profound. His experiences with the Nazis had obviously left a deep impression on him.
“Remember the monkeys that saved us the other day?” Ashwatthama asked.
“Oh, the one you told me not to talk about?” René screwed his eyes to remember.
“Precisely. Lord Hanuman features in the Ramayana.” Ashwatthama closed his eyes. “When Lord Ram and Prince Lakshman met Shabari at the Ashram of Sage Matanga, she instructed them to find Sugreeva at Rishyamukh Mountain.”
Birds chirped melodiously, their songs blending harmoniously with Ashwatthama’s calm voice. Somewhere, they heard a group of people like themselves talking amidst hushed whispers as they passed the area.
“What if someone’s hiding here?” Ashwatthama’s keen ears picked up one of the men’s voices.
“And your voice will alert them! Shush!!” A second voice said agitatedly. The footsteps were hurried, and Ashwatthama shook his head at what humans had done to their own kind.
“With Ravana’s death, his brother, Vibhishana, was crowned the King of Lanka. Following that, Lord Ram, Goddess Sita, and Prince Lakshman returned to Ayodhya, ending the 14-year exile. Prince Bharata was elated to hand over the crown to Lord Ram.” Ashwatthama finished gracefully several minutes later.
René let out a short affirmative and was soon snoring on Ashwatthama’s lap. With a tired grin, Ashwatthama closed his eyes.
At dawn, they continued their journey by crossing the river on a crude boat Ashwatthama crafted and continuing through the treacherous terrain.
“What is courage, Mr. Ashwa?” René asked while they were on the boat. “Do warriors feel no fear?”
“Courage, young lad, is not the absence of fear.” Ashwatthama replied kindly, “It is the ability to act despite your fears!”
“Doesn’t that mean you weren’t afraid?” René asked.
“No, it means that we decided to confront our fears anyway! We go into battle and fight knowing that any moment could be our last! We still go into action! Take you, for example. Like so many of the others, you could have been hiding inside on that day. Instead, you stood outside!” Ashwatthama looked at René.
“I was scared!!” René shivered.
“And yet you chose to stand out in that cold! You even protested that you won’t be taken away! We may not realize it, but sometimes even our smallest acts can showcase inner courage!” Ashwatthama patted René’s head.
René grinned, “That makes me feel so much better, Mr. Ashwa!”
Ashwatthama nodded in approval, The boat reached the deck and Ashwatthama solemnly led the way across the gates of a faraway town.
“I can see that you are capable of being on your own,” Ashwatthama said gruffly. Despite his reluctance, he knew it was time for them to part ways.
“What do you mean?” René shook his head.
"This is where my role ends, young one! My journey lies further east! But you need not accompany me. You’re safe here," Ashwatthama assured René.
"I do not have any family left. Please don't go!" René protested.
"You will find family and friends here, my boy. Being a warrior, especially from the era I come, does not preclude one from foreseeing certain aspects of the future!" Ashwatthama gave him a rare smile.
“But… What about you?” René looked downcast.
“Listen to me, boy. You deserve the best and will find it!” Ashwatthama nodded. “My role in your life does not go beyond this.”
"Very well! At least tell me who you really are!" René asked.
"But you'll have to promise me that you won't speak of me to anyone, whether somebody enquires or not. This is not the right time for me to be discovered! The time will come when Kalki comes!" He declared, standing up to his full height.
"I promise!" René said.
"The son of Dronacharya! Ashwatthama!" Ashwatthama looked up, his eyes glowing, as he walked gracefully out of the town, leaving a stunned boy in his wake.
Epilogue: A New Dawn
Ashwatthama's companions in the boat had fallen asleep at various times in the night, save for him. As dawn approached, Ashwatthama could see an island country in the Far East presenting itself. With a golden hue over the horizon, the sun rose majestically.
"Are we there already? They say the sun never sets here!" one of his sleepy companions murmured, pointing to the distant shore.
As the boat touched the land, the boatman signalled everyone to disembark. The passengers began stretching, yawning, and even cheering at the prospect of having reached their destination. For Ashwatthama, this was not the end but merely a part of his eternal journey. The passage of time had not dulled his resolve; he remained steadfast in his duty to protect the future saviour and ensure the fulfilment of his destiny. Kalki was to come several decades from now. For now, Ashwatthama had arrived in this land in quest of something else.
He continued walking, away from his companions, into the Japanese countryside. With his divine vision, he could foresee where and whom he had to approach. As he journeyed through the villages, the locals eyed him with curiosity and caution, sensing something extraordinary about the tall, imposing figure.
Walking across several villages led him to a humble potter's hut.
“The I.N.A.?" he asked softly.
The man he was addressing looked up at him with shock. The pot he held crashed to the ground. Ashwatthama nodded at the potter, who relaxed and led the way. Soon, Ashwatthama would join the scores of men and women who relentlessly fought for India's freedom.
Ashwatthama never forgot René Delacour. He thought of him often, wondering what the boy could be doing now.
Hundreds of miles away, René Delacour sat by the window of the humble house he lived in. He turned to look at Ashwatthama’s portrait at the centre of the main wall. It was a constant reminder of the extraordinary man who had saved his life and had now become a cherished family heirloom. Despite the passage of time, René never forgot Ashwatthama, for he was nothing less than a visible god to him. The memories of their journey together remained vivid in his mind.
René chuckled as he remembered his twelfth birthday. His foster parents had asked him what present he wanted. With his vivid descriptions of the old warrior, René had approached an artist to draw a portrait of Ashwatthama with the pocket money he used to receive from his kind foster family, who was kind to him and ensured he received an education.
“Do not forget to include these names!” René had instructed the artist.
The artist had stared at him, muttering, “These privileged kids sure love disguising themselves as poor children! Who else would spend all their pocket money on portraits?”
The portrait included the names of Lord Krishna and Lord Hanuman, which the artist carved in the top right corner. Just then, a petite brunette walked in, her hands resting on her belly. Spotting René, she made her way to sit beside him. Not even she knew of Ashwatthama’s real identity.
True to his word, René had never disclosed Ashwatthama’s identity to anyone, simply referring to him as an old traveller who rescued him. To Adanna and everyone else, the man in the portrait was an unknown traveller who’d once rescued René. René kept the portrait in his room until he moved into his current house—a house he could call his own.
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