Falling

(This has nothing to do with mythology or history, apart from names and scenes.)


A golden land there once existed,
Bloodied by a war. Good and evil
Long persisted; vanquished
Were they all.

Pell-mell the men had swung and slain,
Kindness all undone. Amid them a man
Had waxed insane; his name
Was Arjun, Indra’s son.

Flying fish whose aim could blind,
He was an archer supreme. Gifted,
Noble, quick and kind, his wealth
Was a warrior’s dream.

Brothers fought from either side,
Five against a hundred. The royal
Court in great divide, lay dying
Upon the thousands dead.

In battle this Arjun like fluid flew,
Arrows whistling forth. But oft he
Stopped, wept anew, and wondered
Of its worth.

Krishna, the Lord, was at his wheels,
Driving Arjun’s steed. Duty, he said,
Was bread and steel; and the prince
Could only heed.

The sun thus set and rose again,
Redder every day. Till the archer
Faced his only bane; his eldest
Brother was in his way.

Airborne coins he used to nail,
Eyes into the sun. His prowess
Bore a flaming veil; he was Karna,
The Sun God’s son.

With thunder the sky responded,
Rain beheld by fire. Krishna,
In his head, knew Arjun couldn’t
Lay rest to Karna’s ire.

So Karna’s chariot sunk in mud,
Cursed unfairly so. And then there
Sounded a final thud, as Arjun
Slipped the fatal blow.

Victorious, he wailed a battle cry,
The wind in his voice. The night
Then breathed a tired sigh—how
Men are blown by choice.

-------

In a day there arrived bitter news,
Arjun’s son was dead. Caught in
A vicious chakravyuh, Abhimanyu
Had rivers bled.

Maddened with rage was the father,
Avowing to avenge. Like a madman
He killed, and rather, in evil
Himself drenched.

Krishna advised a nobler course,
To accept and depart. Too many
Lives had bent to force; time
Had come to part.

But Arjun, for once, disagreed;
An equal life he craved. To make
Them kneel and mercy plead, he
Had his visions saved.

Bhishma, their general, hence arrived,
Challenged by this cry. Immortal,
Immune to death contrived, he dared
The archer try.

Broken was Arjun’s crimson dream,
Thus taken to task. How could he
Start, even seem, to live up to this
Mammoth ask?

He stepped instead to Bhishma’s feet,
The chariot high forsaken. A smiling
Krishna went upbeat, as a prudent
Path was taken.

-------

An epochal exchange then ensued,
The dead sky watching still. No one
Even dared intrude, as Pitaama
Weaved his worldly will.

“This war has taken lives enough,
And I am tired now. It is not an
Answer to your call; but, son, it is
Time you take a vow.

Plant me over a bed of arrows,
Drown me in abject pain. Refuse me
Water, ignore my throes, and let
This struggle not remain.”

King of his fate, Bhishma had spoken,
Choosing his demise. Arjun, shocked,
Knew not his ken; and wavered
In surmise.

“Take him,” said Krishna, “Shoot!”
This was his chosen end. His
Rider, still mute, struck Bhishma, who
Did nothing to defend.

One by one the shafts embedded,
Ripping the statesman’s spine. Each
Arrow, two headed, pushed him
Closer to recline.

The general fell, so did the sun,
As did the somber night. Falling
To his knees, the battle won, Arjun
Lost his sentient light.