"In truth, a king is nothing but a glorified and overpowered employee of the people. And thus a king has only one morality; protection and prosperity of its people's."
--------------Chanakya.
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Accumulated moisture in the air, fleed across the vast Gangetic planes , mixed with dirt and cold. Carrying with itself, scents of morning freshness, and muddy fertilile earth.It gracefully fell on the green grasses around the riverbanks and on the budding flowers, separating them from there parent plant's and stealing there perfumes away.
The sleeping plants stirred awaked with a sigh, realising the loss of there flowers: beautiful red and white, feeling mildly painfull for the lost ones,yet mixed with acceptance for regular natural order.
The symphony of golden hues unfolds, as the dawn draws nigh. The sunlight fell on the body of rushing river, making it glimmer like living liquid gold.
Dispite everything, loudly roaring and clashing mother river, continued her eternal march forward, nourishing almost one fourth of Bharat (India) in her route.
On these very edge of banks of holy Ganges stood a middle aged man. His clothes proving that he is of no ordinary background. Long flowing strip of royal blue pitambari silk has draped and covered half side of his chest, leaving rest of his upperbody naked to the eyes. It was no doubt a body of a warrior: atheletic and toned. One end of pitambari silk strip was hanging from his right hand, while his left hand carried a long trident, as long as his own body.
Bhishma kept his silent watch, with no bodly movements appearing; like well made stone sculpture. He wasn't just gazing at this serene scene, he is drinking it, drinking and imprinting it -in his mind. This scenery was no stranger to him, he had been on this place many times before.
Countless times actually.
Whenever, there was some important deed for him to do, he would come here, to seek wisdom, advice and blessings.
To this world, ganga was nothing but a river to them, may be holy one, but a river nontheless. But to him, she was his mother, not just figuratively but literally. He had been born to a mortal king named Santanu and goddess Ganga. And as true to legends and myths, a union between a mortal and a anglelic being, is bound to be tragicaly broken. Perspectives of deities are too different and vast, for a mortal to understand at first glimpse, thus resulting in conflicts. And so was with his parents.
His mother was blinded by her vast and superior knowledge, while his father was blinded with his mortal ignorance, neither were wrong nor completely right.
Leaving away there traits and features seemed imposible, thus they left each other.
Ignorance was borne by every human, in this Bhishma was no different. Lack of sight, leds to injuries and thus Bhishma always come to his mother's embrace to ask for her superior sight.
Offcourse, she does help but ... rarely.
' Knowing things is not always good, my beloved deva ' she would say to him offen times. And Bhishma would agree, but that doesn't mean he likes it.
' For the sake of kingdom, please tell me mother ' he had once asked her, begged her in frustration.
' Don't toil yourself so hard for a mere Kingdom, deva. Kingdoms and nations rise and fall, come and go. If you want to toil yourself then do it in service of your Civilization or Dharma. NEVER choice your nation over your civilizational heritage' she adviced in her angelic way. But offcourse, i was bound to ignore that advice. How come I not toil for Hastinapur, I have sacrificed so much for it.
He can still remember that day quite clearly, when his stepmother 'Satyavati' asked his father to have her own son become king instead of me. Father refused, but i decided to give up my claim for the sake of kingdoms stability and future. He even vowed to never enter into marriage, neither to sleep with any women. To make sure that, I never father any child, I even removed away my own manhood.
How then can I not care for this kingdom? For its people's? For its image and reputation? For its prosperity? How can I not?????
He had tried hard to explain it to his mother, but she couldn't, may be she just isn't capable of comprehending a mortal's view.
At that moment, a small bird separated from its flock, flew towards him and softly landed on his bare shoulder. Breaking out of musing, his attention turned towards the little creature chirping at him.
" How should I touch your feet in this condition, oh! My beloved mother" amused, he questioned playfully to the creature.
{ ••In indic tradition, you take blessings by touching the feet of your elders }
The bird chirped something in return, and Bhishma roared with a laughter. When his laughter continued on without showing any signs of stoping, the bird perhaps annoyed pecked at his ear, inducing a painfull wince from him.
Then..... reign of silence took over. Both men and the creature immersed themself in silent serene senerio. Comfortable and blessed out.
Distrubing this feeling felt a crime to Bhishma but nontheless he spoked.
" I came to ask for your blessings and advice " sincerely, Bhishma told her. The bird listened carefully and then chriped. To anyone else it is just chriping but in his mind those sound twisted and turned into foreign structures filled with meanings.
' you always have my blessings ' a feminine voice in his mind appeared.
" And, what about advice? " He inquired.
' will you even listen to it '
perhaps, he thought.
" Most likely i wouldn't even understand it " she likes to sing in riddles, answer questions with another question and more often then not, he comes to understand her riddles only when the event has already passed.
' you try so hard to understand them that's why youdon'tunderstand ' she chriped.
He nodded sagely, pretending like everything makes perfect sense, while nothing did. How on the holy Bhagwati's, do you comprehend something without thinking about it.
Non-the-less, the silence once more took hold over them, and a moment later the bird started rubbing her furry head on his shoulder. Sweetness invaded his flesh and ..... he took great joy in it.
But, offcourse as a killer of joy, he once again asked.
" Your advice ? " Silence followed and then..
' .... We all are puppet's son : animals, insects, humans, dieties, fools and wise. Everyone. We have been given great great freedom but ultimately we still are puppet's of divine. '
" You are divine, aren't you?" He asked.
' .....we are. Just officers created to manage things ' thedivine goddess spoked in riddles yet again. ' fate has decided deva, change is unlikely '
" So, i ... i shouldn't do it " anxiously, Bhishma asked.
' when did I say that? ' chriping followed immediately.
" But you said...."
' fate is stubborn, but will you stop doing your duty, your karma, stop struggling. Miracles have known to happenevery now and then' chiding reply almost Immediately followed, Bhishma was just about to sigh in defeat but in that very moment something clicked in his mind. Enlighten he understood the riddle, his mother definitely is hinting that not struggling will bring worst results.
I don't have right to expect results from this world, but I have right to struggle, to do my karma. This ancient saying reverberated in his mind. Even avatar's of supreme divinity on earth had to struggle, had lord Rama not struggled against the inevitable and ultimately failed . Then who am I???
Moments passed in silence, this time the silence wasn't serene or joyful but filled with peace. Inner peace. It was true blessing. Blessings which clears all your doubt and brings you clarity to see.
" Thanks ..." Appreciation poured out from his mouth. But before he could say anything more, he found his mother's presence dissipating away.
The bird on his shoulder suddenly jerked, confused it looked around itself ,and then in complete panic and bewilderment it scrambled away from him. Throughout this, he paid poor creature no mind.
The wind waves traveled and clashed against him, his long white hair cavorting around wildly. After tasting the freshness, and taking one last breath, Bhishma whirled around striding towards his duty, filled with purpose and clarity like never before.
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In the long dark distance away, one could see the outlines of high grey wall rising. Lesser the distance away you are, higher the stone wall seems to rise. While this stone structure indeed is mighty and awe-inspiring, it has no other worthy usage other than that. Afterall, almost all battles will take place on Ranshetra( Officialy declared battlefield's) and even the most heinous and obscene person wouldn't attack a city filled with non- kshtriya, atleast not without proper forenotes. But dispite that - Hastinapur city, the capital city of Hastinapur Empire must have a proper wall, if not for protection then atleast for status and mark of tradition.
" Speed " Bhishma commanded to his loyal saarthi (charioteer). His golden chariot, like mighty sun, rolling across the plains outside of Hastinapur. It's finely crafted wheels in continuous motion and singing the song of eternal Dharma. It's two dozen bells ringing loudly, announcing of his comming, while four different white steeds yoked his vehicle forward, there manes flowing like white shining river.
Hearing his lord's command, the charioteer immediately obeyed by firmly tighting his hold on reins, and then making clicking sound from his tongue ' harrra '. The horses whinnied in protest, but moment later followed the command of there master nontheless.
With much greater speed, they reached there destination much faster, the huge door, splendorously carved with ancient design, was already open for them. No guard impended there movement, moving away from path, so that the royal vehicle can pass.
The royal chariot roed inside and behind it were two dozen warrior's trailing faithfully after there master. While Bhishma had no need for there protection, his status forced him to be accompanied by many.
Dispite early morning, the city was already abundantly packed with people, most of them were on there way to public bath houses, while those already cleansed were moving on there way to temples and shrines. For some there praying sites were stone structure's and the idol placed inside, while other's just performed there rituals in open atmosphere, some paid there tribute towards sun, while others towards there own elders. In such diverse spectrum of practices, naturally clashing of ideas is only natural. Two men, both young, wearing janeu (sacred thread), seem to be arguing with each other, while the large hoards of busy people moved around them. Most likely there argument started when they bummed with one another, slowly but surely topic of argument turned into 'why other-ones worship methods are inferior to there's '.
Few remarkes turned into full-blown debate and soon this debate turned into shouting match, dozens of so people's attention flew towards this new commotion. And then it weren't just two people debating but now it was argument between two communities. Heated exchange with saliva flew out, anger and offence started bleeding like blood from the physiological wounds of this crowd of gentle beings.
Only the Supreme lord sitting in the highest plane of cosmic ocean would know- who started it first. But soon it just weren't words which were thrown around, but punches,kicks,slaps,and chops- all of this were unleased. This time real blood fled away from real wounds, someone's nose was broken, other lost his eye, a teenage had his hair uprooted from middle of his follicle, while a middle aged man just realised his finger seems to bending in unnatural way.
Most sensible people around this ruckus scrambled far away from it, while there were some few extra sensible's, who decided joining this community fighting match would be worthy use of there bodies. Soon, the number of city guards around increased, but this army of guards did nothing but stared at ongoing riot. Some guards looked at this commotion with annoyance, other's with amusement and rare few with impatience, likely waiting for rioters to exhaust themselves, so that city guards could give them piece of there mind.
Yet at that very opportune moment, a deep and resonant and loud trumpet sound of Shankha reverberated in everyone's ears, at this, few eyebrows were raised, but after moment or two passed, people just ignored it.
Yet just five seconds later, same deep sound returned back.This time more than few people who were in middle of punching there opponents out, stoped to see what was that sound all about. The guards looked at each other likely expecting some clarification from there fellows. But, before any body could offer there humble guess's, the exact same deep trumpets rang for last and third time. Every single thing seems to have stoped,almost frozen except ofcourse those few rioters who were far to deep in there violence to pay attention to anything eles.
Two seconds passed, then four, then nine and then fifteen,atlast it seems some of the guards snapped out of there state, there previously lazy and lax attitude completely forgotten after this fifteen seconds time frame .
Immediately after, they grabbed there long wooden bamboo sticks and without any single warning, they descended on the crowd of rioters like lion desending on herd of deers. And as expected this metaphoric deers scared shitless, tried there best to scarm away, only to be beaten down dark-and-blue with insanely whirling bamboo's,which seems to have no fixed direction of attack or retreat. Surprisingly, this carnage conducted by guards, hardly lasted for ten seconds, instead of continuing there punishment gleefully forward, the guards were seen hurriedly grabbing and dragging the rioters away, trying desperatly to clear the pathway.
The Crowds of onlookers gathered together, glancing and wishpering among themselves, there attention fully conquered by violent fiasco happening before them.
And thus the screems of the victim's turned into songs,blood into water, skin into cheese and order into mockery.
Non-the-less, guards in no time removed as many signs of violence as they could. Yet, dispite any numbers of attempts, the crowd refused to bulge. It was almost like they were eagerly waiting for arrival of some procesion. And they weren't wrong.....
To be continued.
Next chapter- Bhishma 2.
Words - 2,350.
[Author: This chapter has purpose of establishing certain background, first to establish relationship between Bhishma and ganga,second to know bhishma's level of commitment to the kingdom, third and most important to inform readers that Mahabharata wasn't just a sudden political battle, but a fight which was building it's momentum from long time, my grandpa used to say that war like Mahabharata only happens when society in itself carves blood for decades..]