I have come to the part of the story which I


    have been dreading. The part of the story


    everyone knows about. The part that has


    been written, over and over again. I do not


    want to write about it.


    Yes, the war was fought. I orchestrated it. I


    did not want war, yet the alternative was out


    of the question, so I enabled the eighteen-day


    battle of the kings.


    The war that took place between the


    Pandavas on one side and the Kaurava clan


    on the other involved almost every empire to


    the east of Indus. They fought for the throne


    of Hastinapur. A kingdom on the banks of


    the river Ganga, one of the oldest, boasting


    such an illustrious lineage of Kings that the


    lands east of the Indus would derive its name


    from one. Bharat. A kingdom that was now


    staring into the eyes of civil war. Cousins


    were fighting for the crown. This is a story


    so well known that I do not want to recount it


    one more time.


    One billion, six hundred and sixty-six


    million, and twenty thousand men would be


    slain in the course of the Great Battle of


    Kurukshetra. The death of those men haunts


    me now, but it did not touch me as I sat as


    charioteer to Arjun. I had sworn not to lift


    my weapons on anyone in the war, but I


    could not forsake Arjun. I had to stand by


    him. He was Krishnaa''s husband. Before the


    war, when both the Kauravas and the


    Pandavas had been trying to find allies,


    Duryodhana and Arjun both had come to me


    looking for an alliance. My offer was my


    army to one, myself unarmed to the other.


    Duryodhana had the right of the first choice.


    He chose my army. The man itching to


    defeat a warrior like Arjun did not know that


    troops and soldiers never win wars; however,


    trained they may be, but by strategy, with the


    mind, by clever tricks and the spirit of


    indefeasibility. Duryodhana chose my army.


    Arjun always wanted me. And I had to be


    with him if Krishnaa was to be avenged.


    Arjun fell apart before the battle had begun. I


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.picked him up, set him right. I was his spine


    when he could not stand straight and tall to


    release fatal arrows on those he knew as his


    own. I stood by him and was the voice in his


    head that gave him the courage to find his


    valour, his warrior soul, and defeat the


    strongest army known to the world.


    The people of this land say I gave the world


    The Gita- the greatest treatise on


    transcendental knowledge. As I talked to


    Arjuna that day, at the heart of the


    battlefield, an army on either side, I showed


    him what it is to be a man, to be God. I


    showed him the one universal truth. I showed


    him the essence of the divine and the divine


    itself.


    The truth is I do not recollect what I said. I


    spoke for a long time, using all the loquacity


    and glibness I had at my disposal. I spoke


    from the heart. I spoke my truth. It was not


    something I had rehearsed. I knew that at this


    moment, it was imperative that Arjun should


    raise his bow and deliver, as per a warrior of


    his stature. This was not the time to dwell


    over the why and how of our actions. There


    is a time for indecisiveness, a time for


    mulling over our own deeper motives, a time


    to question the screenplay, the script, but that


    time is not when the curtains have parted,


    and the actor stands in the spotlight while the


    audience waits with bated breath, for the first


    act to begin.


    They call me a God, and I am one if weighed


    on the parameters that define godhood. On


    the battlefield that fateful day I saw Arjun


    pause, blinded by the spotlight, conscious of


    the audience before him. This was war. The


    audience was not meant to see the carnage


    that was to take place. They were


    participants. Arjun needed to run his sword


    through them, aim his arrows at their hearts.


    He could not do it, falling apart,


    remembering embraces, affection, and love.


    To be able to destroy, you must rid your


    heart and mind of every emotion. Arjun must


    not feel while he fought, and I had to ensure


    that. I needed to lock away his humanity for


    the duration of the war, which I did.


    And I did it with my words. I spoke. And my


    words became the most powerful weapon


    that unleashed the most mortiferous attack on


    those who chose the wrong side, the side I


    was not on.


    The first to fall was a young man named


    Uttama, the son of King Virat.


    Only twelve warriors survived the


    Mahabharata. I was one of them, but then I


    was not the one fighting, or