Always on the Move, Arjuna

Check the theme here: Pandava Mahaprasthana

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When was the last time the grandeur of the Hastinapura palace gave him pleasure? Arjuna couldn’t remember. Maybe it was before they built Indraprastha, toiling with hundreds of others to make their dream come true—to have a place to call their home; one that belonged to them.

Thirty-six years after the war that took away almost everything, Arjuna no longer cared for the riches or the kingdom. Only the pleasure of training young ones to master archery kept him going, but even that couldn’t mend his broken heart. After all, how many times could a heart break and be put together again?

The devastation he saw in Dwarka and his best friend’s death, his dear Krishna, pushed him close to the edge. His inability to protect the women of Dwarka was like an arrow piercing his heart. Krishna trusted him to save the women. Yet Arjuna knew he had failed.

“You didn’t fail, my boy. It’s destiny.” Grandfather Vyasa said, his tone calm and measured as always.

“But why? I couldn’t string the Gandiva!” How was it that the bow he cherished for decades didn’t help him when he needed it the most?

“That’s a message for you, child. When the gifts given to us no longer work, it’s time to move on to the next phase of life. You aren’t getting any younger, are you? Why not accept the truth and do the right thing?”

The words echoed in his soul until he could hear nothing else. The birds’ chirping, the bees’ buzzing, and the shlokas’ recital in the ashram were distant sounds as Arjuna took Vyasa’s blessings and walked back to his chariot.

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“We should renounce the kingdom.” Arjuna blurted as his brothers welcomed him, a myriad of emotions on their faces.

“What happened?”

“How is Krishna?”

“Why did Dwarka sink?”

“What are you talking about?”

The questions slid off him like water off a lotus leaf.

“Disaster… Nothing is left. I completed the last rites for…” Arjuna choked on a sob that sent a shiver down his body. He would be eight decades old in two years and thought he saw everything life threw at him. But this… the loss of that one person who understood him like no other was something he couldn’t survive.

“Krishna can’t die! Are you sure, Arjuna?” Yudhistira asked in an anguished voice.

Arjuna nodded as they sank to the floor, letting tears flow. Krishna stood by them when no one did. Others may have taken their side, as it was convenient to them, but Krishna was unapologetic about his support for the Pandavas. His clear advice, experienced guidance, and foresight made them rebuild their lives more than once.

“What’s wrong?”

Fresh tears threatened as Draupadi walked into the chamber. What would he tell her? Krishna was her best friend, too! That one man she trusted when she wouldn’t even look at her husbands after the game of dice. He had failed her then. Arjuna felt as if he had failed her again.

“Krishna…” Bhima whispered and shook his head. The giant of his brother looked like a lost puppy as he stared at Draupadi with teary eyes.

“O Deva! But how?” She sat between Bhima and him, one hand on each shoulder, as her eyes questioned him for more.

“It was over by the time I reached Dwarka. The queens… Rukmini, Satyabhama, and others went into Vyasa’s ashram. Varja and a few others are here.” He forced himself to answer her questions. What would he say to Subhadra? She had lost her older brother!

“We have to arrange things for them. Vajra would be a worthy king. Maharaja, we should give them Indraprastha. The Vrishnis deserve it.” Draupadi said.

Arjuna saw Yudhistira nod. He was grateful for her to jump to practical details. It had been her coping mechanism for decades and kept them all focused on the job. What would they have done without her?

“We should renounce the kingdom,” Arjuna said again, this time louder.

“Yes.” Nakula gave a slight nod as he helped Draupadi stand.

“I agree,” Sahadeva added.

“Parikshit is thirty-five and has his own son. He should start ruling.” Bhima, too, agreed.

Arjuna knew Yudhistira didn’t need convincing. They had spent three months after the war convincing their older brother to take the throne. Arjuna wasn’t surprised when he heard the king of Hastinapura declare he was more than ready to get back to the life of an ascetic.

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Cries, sniffles, and sobs echoed in the central hall. Parikshit took each of their blessings, lingering on their last-minute words of advice. When did his grandson grow taller than him? Arjuna felt a ray of satisfaction dispel the darkness enveloping him. He lost his Abhimanyu in the war at the tender age of sixteen. Without Parikshit, he knew none of his family would have lived this long.

“Can I come with you, Grandma?” Janamejaya asked Draupadi, his wiry limbs circling her waist. At eight, the lad divided his time training in the fields and studying with his grandmothers.

Draupadi’s eyes sought Arjuna as she brushed the curls off Janamejaya’s forehead and planted a kiss. “You are too young for this, my little prince. Who will help your father and mother rule the kingdom if you come with us?”

Arjuna placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and added. “Don’t forget to practice the archery lessons.”

Janamejaya nodded with tear-filled eyes. He stuck close to Draupadi.

“I’ll miss you.” The soft voice belonged to Subhadra.

Arjuna turned to place an arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “They need you more.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes with the corner of her pallu. Yudhistira had asked Subhadra to stay back and guide Vajra in Indraprastha while their daughter-in-law, Uttarā, would remain in Hastinapura with Parikshit, her son. This was to ensure both young men had a motherly presence in their lives. There would no longer be conflicts between the two kingdoms. It ended with the death of the Kauravas.

Draupadi hugged Ulupi and Chitrangada, who were also ready to leave Hastinapura. Not for the first time, Arjuna wondered about the women in his life. His two other wives came to live with him only during the last thirty-six years. He knew he had nothing left to give, but tried his best to make them smile. It was the least he could do when they gave him their trust and asked for none in return.

Now, Ulupi would return to her maternal home in the River Ganga. As a naga princess, she preferred living underwater to above it. Chitrangada, too, would return to Manipura, where their son, Babruvahana, was the king. His son grew up to be a great ruler and had a family of his own. Arjuna knew he had no role in it. He was a father only in name, even if Babruvahana loved and respected him.

With the goodbyes done, they instinctively formed a line to exit the kingdom. This would be the last time they walked out of this land, and it made Arjuna breathe a sigh of relief. A part of him couldn’t wait to get away. He had spent more time on the go than any of his brothers.

First, it was the trip down from the Himalayan foothills to Hastinapura after their father’s death. Then, they escaped from the house of lac and the exile he shared with his brothers. However, Arjuna also spent traveling through the year-long self-imposed exile that gave him three extra wives and almost ruined his relationship with the one woman who had his heart. He had to conquer the northern kingdom for Yudhistira’s Rajasuya yagna. During the thirteen-year exile, he once again had to part from his brothers and wife to stay with his birth father and train in weaponry. Post-war, he followed the horse for the Ashwamedha yagna. His latest trip to Dwarka once again separated him from his family.

Each time he left, he justified it. This time, he wanted peace and maybe a few years out in the open to come to terms with himself.

Arjuna couldn’t help but smile as he found himself in the middle again. Being a middle child, he seemed to be put between others and away from what he wanted, even if he didn’t always know what it was.

Yudhistira led them, followed by Bhima, who looked like a well-aged wrestler despite his soft white dhoti. Arjuna was right behind him with the twins in his rear, and Draupadi at the end. They had wanted her to be between them, but she declined, just like how she walked out last, her hair open, her eyes angry, and her saree dotted with her menstrual blood after they lost the dice game. Over fifty years later, she had the same grace and force.

Arjuna turned forward, his footsteps matching his brothers’ as they began their last journey. He could see it in their faces. The Pandava Mahaprasthana would be filled with introspection for all of them.

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