Shakuni circled around Bhishma at a slow pace. Bhishma lay almost lifeless on his death bed of arrows. Without any tinge of mercy or pity in his heart, Shakuni grinned victoriously, while looking deep into Bhishma’s half-open eyes.
“Your eyes look tired, Pitamaha. Let me help you visualise the war scenario. The Kuru flag is unable to furl in the winds. It’s drooping and may soon fall off the pole. And you know what that means? It means my vengeance will be soon avenged,” Shakuni taunted.
“Why do you hate Hastinapur so much? Your sister is the queen of the empire. Your favourite nephew, Duryodhan, the King. You seem to be celebrating this defeat, why?” Bhishma asked gruffly.
Shakuni snorted with a laugh,
“Do you recall, Bhishma, the days when you usurped lands, my land, Gandhar, under the pretext of establishing Dharma there? Manifesting your greed to spread the territories of Hastinapur. Do you recall how my family died of hunger in prison? No, you don’t. For you weren’t there to see it. Every single grain of rice that was served to my near and dear ones, they fed me. So I could live and fight back when the winds were favourable. The insult you inflicted on my loving sister, Gandhari. You left no choice for my father, but to hand over his beautiful daughter to a blind man. You used your power to win girls for the kings of Hastinapur. My loving sister’s life became miserable with darkness beside a handicapped man. And who is responsible for all this? You, Yes you Pitamaha!”
Disturbed by the recall of past, Bhishma shook his head in distress. As if accepting the flaws of his decisions and actions, he pleaded,
“If you see me as your culprit, why punish Hastinapur? You could have killed me or brought me down? Why such a major plotting against the entire Kuru clan?”
Shakuni laughed,
“Who are you and what are you if not Hastinapur? What identity you built for yourself other than this kingdom. Hastinapur is nothing but a personification of you. It is a manifestation of your thoughts and actions. Though you vowed not to sit on the throne, you didn’t allow anyone to grow on it. You ruled everyone’s life in Hastinapur. You were so blinded with love for it that you assumed it was solely upon you to see the empire flourish. To extend its boundaries you killed kings, you abducted girls to serve to Kuru handicapped heirs to carry forward their lineage. So my choice to bring down the Kuru vansh is reasonable, isn’t it? Because to bring about Hastinapur’s doom is to bring down the supreme Devavrata, the indelible Bhishma!”
“And to do so, you used your sister and her off springs. Do you feel no guilt as a maternal uncle? For poisoning the tender heart of Duryodhan ever since his birth,” mocked Bhishma.
“Guilty? It’s not guilt but pride that I feel. If history will write you as Bhishma for the oath of celibacy you practiced, it will write me as the most crafted and intelligent man. The personification of Dwapar Yug. You used your arms and manpower to uphold Hastinapur and justified your actions in the name of Dharma. I used my cult practices, my political craftsmanship, my devious planning to bring down who erred me and my loved ones. History will show that the weak can rise. If not arms and power, there is much driving force in the revenge, fueled by the mind. And as per the guilt factor? It’s my love for my sister that kept the fire kindled. Every time I saw her blindfold beside a blind man, my blood boiled and mind ignited with anger. As per Duryodhan, I do feel sorry. But I needed a pawn, and I chose him.”
Wiping the tears from Bhishma’s eyes, Shakuni whispered,
“Lie on these arrows, Pitamaha, and ponder – was it me who crafted this war or was it you, your blinded love for Hastinapur that led to it? Was it the repercussions of your actions based on excessive greed for Hastinapur’s prosperity?”
Shakuni spewed his anger and walked away, and Bhishma was left experiencing more pain from arrows of guilt left by him than the arrows that lay under him.
