“This vast battlefield stretches in front of me
Dry, though it shall no longer be
Because a rivulet of blood will flow here soon
And Kurukshetra will weep, silently, under the moon.
Countless lives will end right here
Soaked in this soil, with no fear
I think that this battlefield has a heart of stone
For it’ll witness this humongous war, entirely and alone.
‘Fighting wars is a pride’, all of them said
Now, it’s going to be our glorious deathbed
Who will perish, who will go home again
All such matters are just so uncertain.
I can feel terror and anxiety seeping into my heart
How can I do this, tear each other apart?
They look over and see a hideous enemy
But I look over and see my family.
There stands my Guru, I bow to him
He made me myself, bright from dim
Entrusted me with these weapons and these skills
To make my way through life and life’s thrills.
Beside him stands, in white and with grace,
My loving grandfather, wiping a tear from his face
Oh, how loving and protective he was
Always by our side with a just cause.
I see my brothers, evil though they may be
But aren’t they those who grew up with me?
And uncles, nephews, soldiers, sons
Who blessed me so generously once.
Then, how can I aim my arrows at them?
Take an action that the whole world will condemn
They see no sin in killing a kin
To immorality, should I give in?
What good is a palace built on my dead?
What good is the land drenched in their blood so red?
What good is the air mingled with their screams and ashes?
What good is life itself, full of agony and gashes?
Eventually, fear holds me tight across
I fear not death, I fear the irreparable loss
No, I’d rather beg and shed my pride
Before by such wickedness I abide.
My mind is completely baffled, what do I do?
Should I fight or not, I have no clue
I yell, I howl, I cry my eyes out
I’m on the verge of madness in my body, throughout.
It’s a pity that I, a Dronashishya, feel this way
But what can I do to get out of my horror anyway?
Alright, I’ve decided and so, teary-eyed,
I put my sacred Gandiva aside.
My divine charioteer turns back and begins:
“Since when did defending man’s salvation count as sins?
Be wise, for the wise are always strong.”
And then, he sings me his eternal song.
“Our souls are travelers, O Partha, the Earth their refuge
Their home is the Brahmaan, infinite and huge
They are unhurt by weapons, unburnt by fire
Unaffected by water or wind, nor dressed in any attire.
Immortal they are, have always been and shall always be
How do I know this? Because they are a part of me
The reins of your horses, the result of the war
Both lie in my hands, so what’s that fear for?
Therefore arise, O Arjuna, this is your call
To save humanity from its downfall
Fulfill your destiny, uphold your duty true
And I will not let sin even trace you.”
My bewilderment untwines by the magic of his song
I realize that wrong done by loved ones is still wrong
So, with the courage of a warrior and with the speed of light
I fly into the battlefield to fight.”
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Presently a school student, Vasundhara has a knack for writing poetry. She derives her everyday inspiration and lessons from nature, personifying and romanticizing every bit of it. You’ll always find her starry-eyed while listening and talking about literature, mythology, spirituality and all such mysteriously wicked topics.