Krishnaa came to me after the war as I rested


    beneath the Kadamb tree in the gardens of


    Hastinapur. Yudhishtir had been crowned


    King. The Kaurava''s were dead except for


    one of all the brothers of Duryodhana; only


    Yuyutsu survived. Their mother, Gandhari,


    cursed me, in anguish, in pain, heartbroken at


    such a terrible loss. She wished my people a


    death as painful as that of her sons. She


    called me the architect of death. I did not


    have the heart to remind her that I strived to


    counsel Duryodhana, begged him to do the


    right thing, give the Pandava brothers their


    right, their land, but to no avail. I accepted


    her words with equanimity. I too had a price


    to pay.


    Lying in the shade of the Kadamb, aware


    that the mother who lost her sons had voiced


    a prophecy that would come to pass only too


    soon, I tried to go back to the Kadam tree of


    my childhood. This tree was not the one


    beneath which Radha swayed to my music,


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.and I felt the familiar ache of lost love.


    She came to Dwarka sometimes and stayed


    in the more spartan rooms of my palace. I


    knew that, but she never wanted to meet me,


    and though I did not talk of it, it hurt. I


    wanted to play the bansuri again. I wanted to


    chat with Sudama on the stone steps of the


    Gomti Kund. I wanted… to not think for the


    millionth fraction of a second. Still, I opened


    my eyes for Krishnaa, who approached my


    apparent solitary self and sat down on the


    grass next to me, forgetting that she was the


    queen of Hastinapur now and it would be


    deemed unbecoming.


    Krishnaa sat in silence, her eyes grazed over


    some distant shrubs, they wandered up


    staring into the leaves that clung to the


    branches, they fell on me, looking into me, at


    me, and then coming to rest on the knot of


    wood near the roots. I remembered how her


    eyes used to blaze forth, alive, lit up, on fire,


    in anger, with joy. The fire was gone now.


    The Mahabharata did not end with the death


    of kings and princes alone. The victors also


    lost a part of their soul


    Yudhishtir ruled for thirty-six years. He was


    kind, just, and wise. His brothers were his


    strength. Krishnaa and I remained the best of


    friends.