Chapter 1378

Om. Let us honor Narayana. Let us honor Him, the most honorable Nara. Let us honor Her, the goddess called Saraswati. Jayatu Bhava!

“Sanjaya said,

‘United, the heroes headed south. At sunset, they came to the Kuru camp. Setting their beasts free, they filled with fear. When they came to a forest, they went into hiding within it. Near the Kuru camp, they made camp for themselves. Cut, mangled by many sharp weapons, they sighed deeply and passionately, considering the Pandavas. Hearing the din created by the victorious Pandavas, they feared being pursued; they fled east. Having journeyed for some time, their beasts grew tired and the men became thirsty. Overwhelmingly furious and critical, the great archers found what’d happened intolerable; they burnt with the grief they felt for the king’s death. Nevertheless, they rested for a time.’

Dhritarashtra said,

‘The great thing, O Sanjaya, Bhima did was amazing! My son, though as naturally strong as ten-thousand elephants, was struck down. Though in the prime of his life and naturally of adamantine body, he could not be slain by anyone or anything, however, my son was struck down by the Pandavas in battle. Surely, O Sanjaya, my heart must be adamantine – upon hearing of the death of my one-hundred sons, it didn’t smash into a thousand pieces. Alas, what will become of me and my wife? We’re going to be an elderly, childless couple. Well, I refuse to live in the adopted son of Pandu’s realm! My son was a king and I was one, too, O Sanjaya, so how could I be a slave to Pandu’s adopted son? I ruled the world and trampled all, O Sanjaya, so how can I now be a wretched slave? How can I, O Sanjaya, bear Bhima’s words? He, single-handedly, slew all one-hundred sons of mine. The things Mahatma Vidura said have come to pass. But alas, my son, Sanjaya, ignored them. Well, what did Kritavarman, Kripa, and Drona’s son do once my son Duryodhana had been unfairly struck down?’

And Sanjaya said,

‘They had not gone far, O king, when they spied a great forest that had plenty of trees and vines. Having rested, they entered the great forest in chariots drawn by excellent horses whose thirst had been quenched. The forest had plenty of various beasts and birds; it had plenty of trees, vines, and carnivores. It had plenty of water-sources, varying species of flowers, and plenty of lakes overcrowded with blue lotuses. Having entered the dense forest, they looked around and spied a giant banyan with thousands of branches. Entering the shade of that tree, the great chariot-warriors, O king, those top men, noted it was the largest tree of the forest. Dismounting and setting their animals free, they bathed and recited their evening-prayers. Meanwhile, the sun came to the Astan-range and Night, the cosmic mother, arrived. The sky, bespangled with planets and stars, shone like bejeweled brocade and looked quite pleasing. Night-wanderers howled and cried as they pleased; creatures of daylight slept. Those night-wanderers created a din and carnivores filled with delight; as the night wore on, things turned more and more dreadful. Grievous and sorrowful, Kritavarman, Kripa, and Drona’s son sat together beneath the banyan. Sorrowful, they spoke of what’d happened; the destruction of both Kurus and Pandavas. Exhausted, they lay down upon the bare ground to sleep. Yes, they were exhausted and quite mangled by spears. The two great chariot-warriors, Kripa and Kritavarman, succumbed to Sleep. Whether they deserved happiness and were undeserving of misery or not, they lay on the bare ground, sprawled. Yes, O king, the ones who’d always slept on expensive beds now slept like the destitute on the bare ground, troubled by labor and grief. But, Drona’s son, O Bharata tribesman, giving into Fury and Honor, was restless and breathed in a serpentine manner. Fury ignited, he found no rest. The mighty-armed hero eyed the entirety of the terrible forest. As he surveyed the forest populated with various creatures, the great warrior spied a great banyan populated by crows. Yes, thousands of crows had perched upon the banyan for rest. Each with its own bit of personal space, the crows slept at ease, O Kauravan. Now, as the crows were sleeping soundly, Aswatthaman saw a terrible-looking owl. Crying fearsomely, gigantic, green-eyed, and tawny-feathered, it had a great beak and long talons. It flew as swiftly as Garuda. Crying softly, the bird, O Bharata tribesman, secretly neared the Banyan. Then, the freewheeler of the sky, a crow-slayer, perched upon a branch of the banyan and slew a great many crows in their sleep. He tore wings, heads, and legs. Naturally quite strong, he slew many as they fell. The parts of the crows and the whole crow-corpses, O king, truly littered the ground the banyan’s spreading branches covered on all sides. Having slain the crows, the owl was as delighted as an enemy-slayer upon treating his enemies just as he pleased. Seeing what the owl had done, Drona’s son reflected on whether he could do the same. He thought: The owl has given me an idea – I am determined to annihilate the enemy and this is the time to do it. The victorious Pandavas cannot be slain by me; they’re naturally mighty, perseverant, of sure aim, and are skilled slicers. I vowed to annihilate them before the king. Yes, I have a death-wish like a moth eager to leap onto a flame. If I fight fairly, I shall surely die. But, if I am cunning, I may succeed and mine enemies may undergo great destruction. Men prefer performing acts when their results are certain; scripture asks us to prefer such acts. Now, a Kshatriya keeping to his caste-based duties might choose to do this possibly censurable act, an act which could give him a bad reputation. The Pandavas, ones of polluted souls, have always done nasty, blameworthy things; they’ve been quite cunning. Upon truly considering the law, truth-seeking men who upheld justice sang verses penned long ago chock full of truth: An enemy, no matter if exhausted, wounded, eating, napping, or sleeping, should still be cut down. No, not even when asleep in the middle of the night, without his leader, ruined, or wrongly sensing a flaw in his opponent. Having reflected thusly, the brave son of Drona decided to slay, that night, the Pandavas and Panchalas as they slept. Having made this wicked plan and vowed repeatedly he would execute it, he awoke his maternal uncle and the Bhojan chief. Awakened, the two noteworthy, mighty ones, Kripa and the Bhojan chief, learned of Aswatthaman’s plan. Ashamed, they had nothing to say. Having reflected for a short while, Aswatthaman then said, eyes tearful: King Duryodhana, a quite mighty hero, one we waged war with the Pandavas for, was slain. Abandoned and alone though he ruled eleven Akshauhinis of men, the hero of flawless power was struck down by Bhimasena and a great number of united wretches. Nasty Vrikodara has also been wicked – he kicked the head of a man whose hair was bathed during a sacred ceremony. The Panchalas roar loudly, shout, and laugh out loud. Joyous, they blast their conchs and beat their drums. Their loud instruments, when they mix with the sounds of blasted conchs, are fearful to hear, carried by the wind, and something that fills all compass-directions. Their horses, grunting elephants, and roaring men also create a din. From the east you can hear the deafening sound of rejoicing men marching back to camp and the deafening sound of fearsomely clattering chariot-wheels. The havoc the Pandavas wrecked wiped out all but three of the Dhritarashtras – us. Some were as naturally mighty as a hundred elephants and some had mastered any and all weapons. Still, the adopted sons of Pandu were able to slay them. Time can reverse fortunes, can it not? Haven’t we experienced such a thing? Yes, the Pandavas were the ones who performed those difficult feats, but isn’t Time reversing fortune the true cause? If you’re not too stunned to reply, tell me what, in this time of misfortune and gravity, should be done.’”

Chapter 1379

“Sanjaya continued,

‘And Kripa said: Now that we’ve heard all you have to say, mighty one, listen to me. O mighty-armed one, men are enslaved by Fate and Effort. Nothing can top either one. That which we do depends on both Fate and Effort. O supreme man, one is successful when the two work together. All plans, both superior and inferior, depend upon that union. On Earth, men are active or static by way of Fate and Effort. A mountain and a tilled field can both receive water, but rain requires no effort and irrigation does. A plan can fail due to fate, and, a plan can fail when the stars are in alignment but no effort is made. Believe me, destiny and effort must be combined. Now, let's say a farmer tills the soil and plants a seed. Does his seed grow then? No, Fate decrees whether or not it will rain and his seed grows thereby, so one cannot say growth is only due to effort. But, it is useless to only depend on effort and a wise man knows this. O taurine man, Fate and  Effort work in tandem for mankind, pushing a man to do his best or do nothing. One can make great effort or very little as he chooses, but Fate decides whether he will succeed or fail. Fate  pushes a man to make an efffort and such effort leads to success. But, even a competent, zealous man can fail and Fate does not deserve blame. Only a slothful or foolish man would refuse to make any effort due to fear of failure. A wise man knows to do otherwise. Now, it is uncommon for a man to receive a tangible reward for his efforts, but doing nothing at all leads to misery. A man must make an effort; that's the way it goes. Those who make an effort support themselves and those who do

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Bildmaterialien: https://www.pikist.com/free-photo-sjgqp
Lektorat: Mantra Caitanya
Korrektorat: John Bruno Hare
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 13.08.2021
ISBN: 978-3-7487-9150-8

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