Chapter 1: The Shadows of Kurukshetra

The air was thick with tension as the sun set over the battlefield. The sound of distant drums and horns filled the air, signaling the end of another day in the great war. The Pandavas and the Panchal warriors stood ready, their eyes fixed on the horizon where battles were won and lost. Among them, a fierce determination burned brightly, ready to face their destiny.

In a distant place, a lone warrior's voice echoed through the silence, "I will destroy them all by myself." His spirit was unyielding, even when faced with the confusion of right and wrong. Though he had been defeated in a secret battle, his resolve remained unbroken.

The Mahabharata, an eternal epic penned by the sage Vyasa, has been retold through generations. Scholars like Haridas Siddhanta Bagish and Kaliprasanna Singh have translated its tales into Bengali, bringing to life the stories of valiant heroes and epic battles. Today, a simple version unfolds, produced by Pastel Entertainment.

On the battlefield of justice, Bhima found himself unable to defeat Duryodhana. Following a hint from Arjuna, he resorted to unfair means, leaving Balarama, Vasudeva Krishna, and Yudhishthira seething with anger. To calm Yudhishthira's troubled heart, Krishna traveled to Hastinapur to meet with Dhritarashtra and Gandhari.

As evening descended, Krishna left Hastinapur, a terrible vision haunting his mind. He leapt onto his chariot and commanded his charioteer, "Daruka, drive fast. I must reach Kurukshetra immediately."

Daruka nodded solemnly. "Yes, my lord, I will take you there as quickly as possible." The worry etched on Krishna's face deepened as the chariot raced across the land, carrying him swiftly towards destiny.

Meanwhile, at Kurukshetra, the Pandavas celebrated their recent victory. Soldiers divided the treasures taken from Duryodhana's camp, and Draupadi's young sons reveled in their first taste of triumph. General Dhrishtadyumna stood among them, pride swelling in his chest.

Yet, in stark contrast, the Kaurava camp lay silent and shadowed. Unbeknownst to the Pandavas, a deep conspiracy brewed within the darkness.

Ashwatthama, unaware of Bhima's battle with Duryodhana, learned of Duryodhana's fate from a messenger. Shocked, he rushed with Kripa and Kritavarma to Duryodhana's side. Seeing the fallen king, Ashwatthama cried out, "Oh, King Duryodhana! What am I seeing? The ruler of the world, now lies defeated. The leader of the earth is alone in a deserted place. All hope for the Kauravas has vanished."

With determination, Ashwatthama reassured him, "Do not grieve, brother. You are the son of the great warrior Dronacharya. Everyone is lost in the passage of time."

Duryodhana's voice was filled with despair. "That is the nature of time. No one is permanent. I am Duryodhana, the king of Hastinapur, and look at me now, without anything, helpless."

In the silence that followed, a voice rose with defiance, "No, king. You are not helpless, you are not alone. I am still by your side. I am alive, king. Now, watch my battle."

Encouraged, Duryodhana urged, "Yes, brother, fight. Fight with all your strength. I have never turned away from battle. The Pandavas are wrongdoers. They have acted unjustly. They have destroyed my body, but my spirit remains strong. Friend, with that strength, I could win another Kurukshetra. But no, fate did not grant me that chance."

A voice of hope echoed, "It will, Duryodhana."

Then, another voice, filled with loyalty, spoke, "You are still our king, our leader. Tell us what we must do, king."

Ashwatthama's voice was solemn yet hopeful, "The fact that you three are alive is my only happiness. Do not grieve for me, brother. I have followed the warrior's duty in mind and word. If the words of the Vedas are true, then surely I will go to heaven. Ashwatthama, you have tried your best to win. But overcoming fate is difficult."

Yet, a voice of defiance refused to accept this, "No, king, no. Fate is the excuse of a weak mind. This weakness does not suit you, king. As long as I live, I will despise this weakness with all my heart and soul, king. I will despise it."

The night deepened, and the shadows of Kurukshetra loomed large, as warriors prepared for the battles yet to come.

Chapter 2: The Night of Deceit

As the night deepened over the desolate plains of Kurukshetra, the air grew heavier with the tension of what was to come. Ashwatthama's voice, filled with bitterness, broke the stillness. "What do you want to do, O King Ashwatthama? The Pandavas are dishonest by nature," he said, his voice trembling with anger. "They have destroyed my father through deceit. But believe me, king, seeing you in this state today brings me more sorrow than I felt for my father."

Duryodhana, listening intently, clenched his fists. "Listen, king," he declared with fiery determination, "I swear by your name, I will send the Panchalas and the five Pandavas to the land of the dead today. I will destroy them alone. In front of Krishna, his beloved Pandavas will meet their end. Today, grant me permission, king. Let me destroy the Pandava camp."

Kulaguru Kripacharya, standing nearby, nodded solemnly. "Quickly bring me a pot filled with water," he instructed his charioteer. "I will appoint Ashwatthama as the commander."

Obeying Kripacharya's order, the charioteer swiftly brought a golden pot filled with water and set it before Duryodhana. Ashwatthama knelt beside it, his heart pounding with anticipation. As Kripacharya began to chant the sacred victory mantras, he carefully poured the water over Ashwatthama's head and body, anointing him with the strength and blessing of the gods.

The ceremony concluded, and Duryodhana embraced Ashwatthama tightly. "Son of Drona," he said with fervor, "go and show your victory. Destroy those deceitful and unjust Pandavas. Go where destruction awaits. King, I will place the severed heads of the five Pandavas in your hands."

Ashwatthama's eyes glinted with a dangerous resolve. "Come, Acharya, come, mighty Kritavarma. Today, the three of us are King Duryodhana's warriors. Nothing is impossible for us. Let's go to battle."

With determination fueling their every move, Kripacharya, Kritavarma, and Ashwatthama climbed into their chariots and set off towards the battlefield of Kurukshetra. The night cloaked their journey, the silence only broken by the rhythmic pounding of horse hooves against the earth.

Reaching a dense forest, they paused to rest. The horses drank eagerly from a pond, their thirst quenched. As night fully embraced the land, Kripacharya lay down on the ground to sleep, followed soon by Kritavarma, who drifted into slumber.

But Ashwatthama remained wide awake, his mind a tumult of emotions—shame, anger, and frustration. His breaths came heavy, each one seeming to scorch the grass around him. Under a sprawling banyan tree, he sat, watching the world around him with restless eyes. Above, crows slept peacefully on the branches, unaware of the danger lurking below.

Suddenly, a large, dark owl swooped down silently, attacking the unsuspecting crows. Feathers fluttered to the ground as the owl struck with deadly precision, leaving a pile of lifeless bodies beneath the tree. Ashwatthama's eyes widened as he witnessed the scene unfold.

"Yes!" he whispered to himself, a new understanding dawning in his mind. "This owl has taught me a great lesson. I never thought of such a way to destroy before. I can never defeat the strong and clever Pandavas in a direct battle. No, I can't kill them. Krishna himself is their ally. But instead of fighting openly, I can secretly kill them. Yes, yes, this is how they can be destroyed."

His decision made, Ashwatthama sprang to his feet, his heart racing with a mix of fear and excitement. "The warrior code, the warrior code has taught me this," he muttered, shaking Kritavarma and Kripacharya awake.

"Kritavarma, wake up! Acharya, Acharya, get up, get up!" he urged.

Kripacharya blinked sleepily, confusion clouding his eyes. "What happened, Ashwatthama? Why are you so excited? Has something bad happened?"

"Not yet," Ashwatthama replied, his voice steady with newfound resolve, "but it will. The Pandavas are in great danger. Uncle, I have found a way to destroy them. Now we must all move forward silently."

Kripacharya frowned, trying to comprehend. "What way are you talking about, Ashwatthama? Are you planning to start a battle in the middle of the night?"

Ashwatthama's eyes glowed with a fierce determination. "Yes, a battle like they've never seen before," he whispered, his mind already plotting the silent destruction that lay ahead.

Chapter 3: The Silent Strategy

In the dim light of the moonlit night, Ashwatthama stood resolute, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "No, Kritavarma," he said, his voice steady yet filled with an underlying tension. "The three of us cannot hope to defeat the Pandavas in a direct battle. We would only meet our end at their hands. We must find another way."

Kritavarma listened intently, his brow furrowed with concern. "What do you suggest, Ashwatthama?" he asked, the weight of their predicament heavy on his shoulders.

Ashwatthama continued, his mind racing through the teachings of the ancient scriptures. "The scriptures offer us special strategies, ways to achieve victory when direct combat is hopeless. They allow us to defeat an enemy who is tired, injured, or even asleep. At this late hour, when everyone is asleep, you want to attack, Ashwatthama."

Kritavarma shook his head, doubt clouding his thoughts. "Just having courage or being a man isn’t enough to succeed," he said softly. "Success requires wisdom as well. If a hardworking person doesn’t succeed, they are judged harshly, and if a lazy person succeeds too easily, they are also criticized. Duryodhana was diligent, but his greed led him astray. He ignored wise counsel and made enemies with the Pandavas. By following him, we’ve landed in this mess."

He sighed deeply, his voice tinged with regret. "No, Ashwatthama, my mind is tangled. I can’t tell right from wrong anymore. Perhaps we should seek guidance from King Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, and the wise Vidura."

Ashwatthama's resolve remained unshaken. "I am Ashwatthama," he declared, "born into a noble Brahmin family, but fate has led me down the path of a warrior. I must follow it."

Kritavarma looked at him earnestly. "You are now the commander, Ashwatthama. The responsibility of making decisions is yours. The Panchalas are asleep, their armor set aside in the joy of victory. This is our chance."

Ashwatthama nodded, determination etched on his face. "Tonight, I will destroy the Panchala soldiers and the five Pandavas with my sword. Only then will I be free of my debt to my father."

Kripacharya, who had been silent, finally spoke up, his voice calm but firm. "Ashwatthama, once you have decided on destruction, even the king of the gods cannot stop you. But rest now. Let the night pass. At dawn, we will don our armor and head to the battlefield."

Ashwatthama shook his head vehemently. "Can a person who is angry or seeking revenge sleep peacefully? No, uncle. I won't rest until I defeat the arrogant Dhrishtadyumna. I have heard King Duryodhana's cries, and they haunt me. When morning comes, Krishna and Arjuna will protect the Pandava army. It will be impossible to defeat them then."

Kripacharya pleaded with him, his voice gentle yet urgent. "Listen to me, my son. Don't fall into the same sin as Duryodhana. Wise people follow good advice. Killing sleeping, unarmed warriors will only bring you endless suffering."

Ashwatthama's eyes blazed with defiance. "I am not afraid of hell, teacher," he replied. "The Pandavas have forsaken righteousness. I have no desire to act righteously with them."

Kripacharya sighed, a deep sadness in his eyes. "Ashwatthama, listen. Fight your enemies in the morning and win. Stay away from this terrible sin."

But Ashwatthama was resolute. "This is a grave sin, uncle. I know what you say is true, but the Pandavas have broken the rules themselves. I will not be bound by righteousness with them."

As the night deepened, the tension in the air grew thicker, and Ashwatthama's resolve only hardened, setting the stage for the grim events that would soon unfold.

Chapter 4: The Night of Reckoning

Ashwatthama's eyes burned with a fierce determination as he spoke, his voice echoing in the stillness of the night. "The teacher was my father," he declared, his words heavy with emotion. "When he was unarmed and helpless in his chariot, they killed him. What righteousness did they follow then? Uncle, I will kill that sinful, unarmed Dhrishtadyumna like an animal. A warrior who dies in battle with weapons in hand goes to heaven, but I won't let that sinner reach heaven."

Kripacharya listened, his heart torn between duty and the love he felt for his nephew. Ashwatthama continued, undeterred by the weight of his own words. "Even if I have to be reborn as an insect because of this sin, I will accept God's decision. I am not afraid of that. Uncle, give me permission. I am heading towards the Pandava camp tonight."

Kripacharya placed a comforting hand on Ashwatthama's shoulder, his voice firm yet filled with concern. "Ashwatthama, don't go alone. Kritavarma and I will go with you to the Pandava camp. Come, teacher, we can't wait any longer."

With Kripa and Kritavarma by his side, Ashwatthama moved stealthily through the shadows, their footsteps barely audible in the deep of night. As they reached the camp's entrance, a formidable figure emerged from the darkness, glowing with an otherworldly light. The man wore a blood-red tiger skin and a black deer skin draped over his shoulders. Around his neck was a serpent necklace, and his wild, matted hair and strong body would make anyone's heart tremble. His fierce face was terrifying, with sharp teeth, and it seemed like fire was coming out of his nose, ears, and eyes. From this fire, countless Vishnus appeared, holding conch shells, discs, and maces, surrounded by many deadly weapons.

Kripacharya's eyes widened with fear, and even the fearless Kritavarma took a step back. But Ashwatthama, alone and full of courage, remained unshaken. He began to hurl all the divine weapons he knew at the figure, one by one. But the amazing man merely opened his huge mouth and swallowed all the weapons as if they were nothing.

When he ran out of weapons, Ashwatthama stood still, realization dawning upon him. He looked up and saw the sky filled with clouds and countless Vishnus floating around. Without any weapons left, Ashwatthama remembered Kripacharya's words and felt a pang of shame and regret. He got off his chariot and stood humbly before the man.

In that moment of humility, Ashwatthama realized that the figure before him was none other than Lord Shiva himself. Overwhelmed with devotion, he began to praise the deity. "O Lord, if I can be saved from this great danger, I will dedicate my body made of the five elements to you, my Lord."

From the depths of his heart, Ashwatthama offered himself, and Lord Shiva responded with a voice as deep as the ocean. "My child, Ashwatthama, may your wish be fulfilled. I desire you as an offering right now."

"As you command, my Lord," Ashwatthama replied, filled with a sense of purpose. Suddenly, a golden altar appeared, and a sacred fire was lit. Strange spirits, ghosts, and demons of various forms gathered around. Some played conch shells, drums, and horns, creating a cacophony of sound. Others danced around Lord Shiva, their movements wild and untamed. The weapons in their hands glinted in the light, casting eerie shadows.

To witness Ashwatthama's strength and the scene of pure warriors being slain, these spirits appeared from all directions. Ashwatthama then loudly declared to the great man, "O Lord, O Maheshwara, I am Ashwatthama, son of Dronacharya, born in the line of sage Angiras. I offer my entire body into this fire. I will enter this blazing sacrificial fire as an offering. Please accept this sacrifice, this self-offering."

With a calm face and unwavering resolve, Ashwatthama bowed to Lord Shiva and stepped onto the altar. He raised his arms and entered the fire, making no effort to protect himself from the fierce flames. Even though the fire burned him intensely, his calm expression did not change at all. Seeing this brave warrior, Lord Shiva's face lit up with joy. In a gentle voice, he said, "Ashwatthama, listen carefully. In all of creation, there is no one dearer to me than Krishna. This is because Krishna always worships me in every way. Since Krishna has come to protect the Pandavas, I am safeguarding the Panchalas to honor him. I knew you would come here, and I know your purpose. Ashwatthama, I am here to test your courage and strength. I have created various illusions to instill fear in you."

Chapter 5: The Shadow of Death

The air was thick with anticipation as Ashwatthama stood before Shiva, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and resolve. "Ashwatthama," Shiva intoned with a voice as deep as the ocean, "give your command. The end of the Panchalas is near. I will no longer protect them; they are now in the grip of fate. Today, death will descend upon them. You shall enter the Panchala camp as the embodiment of death. Pleased with your sacrifice, I grant you the permission and power to do so."

Ashwatthama bowed deeply, his forehead nearly touching the ground. "Lord, please accept my humble offering," he murmured, feeling the divine energy of Shiva wash over him, filling him with newfound strength. In his hand, Shiva placed a magnificent sword, its blade shimmering with an ethereal glow. Transformed by this divine gift, Ashwatthama stood taller and stronger, a brilliant aura surrounding him.

Kripacharya, watching with awe, was amazed at the change in Ashwatthama. Holding the sword with unwavering determination, Ashwatthama moved silently towards the Panchala camp, flanked by Shiva's ghostly followers who remained unseen to all but him.

As Ashwatthama approached the camp, he spotted Kripacharya and Kritavarma standing vigil. "Teacher," he said, his voice steady and calm, "I am going into the Panchala camp now. Today, the Panchalas will be destroyed. You guard the entrance to the camp. Make sure not a single Panchala escapes from us today."

Kripacharya nodded, his eyes filled with a fierce determination. "Ashwatthama, rest assured, my son. No one will escape from our hands. Even if it goes against my principles today, as long as I am on guard, I will stand like a warrior. Do not doubt my vigilance, my son."

With Kripacharya and Kritavarma guarding the entrance, Ashwatthama entered the camp. The soft glow of lamps lit up the tents, casting long shadows on the ground. Inside, everyone was in a deep, peaceful sleep. But Ashwatthama’s heart was filled with fury as he spotted Dhrishtadyumna, sleeping soundly on a fine bed. Anger surged through him, and he began kicking Dhrishtadyumna to wake him.

Startled from his sleep, Dhrishtadyumna awoke to find Ashwatthama looming over him. Without hesitation, Ashwatthama grabbed his hair and threw him to the ground. Disoriented and frightened, Dhrishtadyumna could barely muster the strength to fight back. "Son of my teacher, Ashwatthama," he gasped, "don’t delay. Kill me with your weapon now, so I can reach the afterlife."

"You evil, wicked person!" Ashwatthama roared, his voice echoing through the camp. "You killed your own teacher. Someone who kills their teacher never reaches the afterlife. You don’t deserve to die by a weapon. You will die, but I will kill you in another way, you sinner."

With those words, Ashwatthama pressed down hard on Dhrishtadyumna’s chest with his foot. Under the weight of Ashwatthama’s immense strength, Dhrishtadyumna let out a loud cry, his life slipping away. The cry echoed through the camp, waking Dhrishtadyumna’s wife and guards, who rushed towards the tent. But when they saw Ashwatthama’s towering, fearsome figure, they froze in terror, unable to move.

Ashwatthama left the camp through the opposite gate from where he entered, mounting his chariot and heading towards the Pandava camp. The cries and screams from the Panchala camp reached the Pandava warriors, who quickly surrounded Ashwatthama with their weapons drawn. In the dark night, they attacked, but their weapons seemed to bounce off Ashwatthama’s terrifying form, powerless against him. One by one, the warriors fell to Ashwatthama’s powerful weapon.

The chaos continued as Ashwatthama cut down Uttamaujas and Yudhamanyu, then turned his wrath upon the tired and sleeping unarmed warriors in the camp. The loud commotion roused Draupadi’s five sons and Shikhandi, who quickly donned their armor and grabbed their weapons. Charging out of the camp, they attacked Ashwatthama with arrows and other weapons, but their efforts were in vain. Ashwatthama’s divine sword glowed with an unearthly light, and with swift, deadly strokes, he killed Draupadi’s sons one by one.

Finally, with a mighty swing, Ashwatthama’s sword cleaved the great warrior Shikhandi in two, leaving the camp in silence, the air heavy with the weight of tragedy and loss.

Chapter 6: The Goddess of Destruction

Ashwatthama stood on the battlefield, a fearsome figure, as if he were a dark storm in human form. His sword, stained with the blood of his foes, glinted ominously in the dim light. His clothes, soaked in crimson, clung to him like a second skin. Around him, the guards at the camp could scarcely believe their eyes. The ground was littered with the bodies of fallen warriors, and a chilling vision unfolded before them.

In the depths of the night, a goddess appeared—a terrifying figure draped in blood-red garments, a garland of blood around her neck, and a bamboo stick clutched in her hand. Her wild, fearsome presence sent shivers through the hearts of all who beheld her. But she was not alone. Other fierce goddesses spread out around her, each as wild and ready for battle as the night itself. They captured everything in sight—people, horses, elephants, even the very essence of nature.

The guards had dreamed of such a scene since the war began, but now, faced with its reality, they stood silent and afraid. Ashwatthama moved through the camp like a specter of death, his sword swinging in a relentless frenzy. Meanwhile, the fierce goddess roamed the battlefield, her companions wreaking havoc wherever they went.

As the night wore on, Ashwatthama, with the help of Kripacharya and Kritavarma, ensured that none would escape. The horses, soldiers, elephants, and brave warriors of the Pandava camp fell one by one. When the massacre finally ended, Ashwatthama's heart was filled with grim satisfaction. He turned to Kripacharya and said, "We have succeeded, teacher. Almost all the warriors in the Pandava camp are dead. I will take this blood-stained sword to King Duryodhana. Let's go quickly. But I don't know if King Duryodhana is still alive. If he is, we must tell him this good news first. Hurry, hurry, teacher, let's go. Duryodhana might still be alive. We haven't heard any bad news from the messengers yet. Come, come, we must reach him right away."

With Kripacharya and Kritavarma by his side, Ashwatthama made his way to Duryodhana. They found him still alive, though barely. He lay on the ground, struggling, coughing up blood, and trying to fend off vultures eager for his flesh. His life seemed to hang by a thread, the eldest son of King Dhritarashtra of Hastinapur close to death.

Ashwatthama hurried to Duryodhana's side. "Gandhari's son, Duryodhana," he exclaimed, "you are a blessed king, truly blessed. You will ascend to heaven, having fallen in battle by the enemy's weapons. Shame on me, Kripacharya, and Kritavarma. We cannot go to heaven with you leading the way. No, King, no, I will not let you leave under such unfair circumstances."

Duryodhana's eyes flickered with a faint light of hope. "Good news, good news will bring you peace as you pass away," Ashwatthama continued. "I have come to share that news. Tell me, Ashwatthama, tell me I won't live much longer. Speak, friend, share the good news. Among the enemy warriors, only the five Pandavas, Krishna, and Satyaki are still alive. On our side, only I, Kripacharya, and Kritavarma remain. I have beheaded Dhrishtadyumna, Shikhandi, Draupadi's five sons, and all the other warriors."

A weak smile crept onto Duryodhana's face. "King, Ashwatthama, son of the teacher, you have achieved what even the great warriors like Bhishma, Drona, and Karna could not, with Kripacharya and Kritavarma by your side. Today, I feel as fortunate as the king of the gods, Indra. I am now equal to Indra. I can now go to heaven in peace. Thanks to your generosity, my father and I have wealth in our palace that no one else has. Despite giving, meditating, and performing sacrifices, our wealth has not diminished. You have given us everything, King—comfort, support, and riches. How will I live without you, Duryodhana? Your gratitude is my lifelong treasure, friend Ashwatthama."

"King, King," Ashwatthama said, his voice filled with emotion, "when you reach heaven, tell my father that I have sent his killer, Dhrishtadyumna, to hell. Embrace King Jayadratha, Somadatta, and Bhurishrava for me. Embrace them and wait for me, wait for me, Duryodhana. Wait for me. After death, I will come to you. May you be blessed, Ashwatthama. We will meet again in heaven."

And so, amidst the darkness and sorrow of that fateful night, the bonds of loyalty and friendship shone brightly, even as the fires of war slowly died down.

Chapter 7: The End of the Battle

Ashwatthama sat on the cold, hard ground, cradling Duryodhana's blood-stained head in his lap. His heart was heavy with grief and anger. The once mighty warrior, Duryodhana, now lay lifeless, his body slipping from Ashwatthama's trembling hands and resting silently upon the earth.

In another part of the battlefield, Yudhishthira's heart sank as he received the devastating news of the death of his sons. The weight of sorrow was almost unbearable, and he felt as if the world had grown darker. Nakula, his face pale with shock, guided Draupadi to the scene of tragedy. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her heart ached with a pain only a mother could know.

Seeing Draupadi's grief, Bhima's anger flared like a raging fire. He could not stand by while his loved ones suffered. With determination in his eyes, he rushed forward to confront Ashwatthama, his mind set on seeking justice for the fallen.

"Bhima, wait!" Krishna called out, his voice firm yet compassionate. He, along with Arjuna and Yudhishthira, hurried after Bhima, hoping to prevent further bloodshed.

Ashwatthama, consumed by his desire for vengeance, was not swayed by their approach. His mind was clouded with thoughts of destruction. In his desperation, he launched the fearsome Brahmashira weapon, intent on annihilating the five Pandavas.

The air crackled with energy as the weapon surged forth, its power unmatched and terrifying. The battlefield seemed to hold its breath, the fate of the Pandavas hanging by a thread.

And so, amidst the echoes of war and the cries of the grieving, the tale of the Mahabharata continued to unfold, weaving together the threads of destiny and the bonds of friendship that transcended even the darkest of times.

This concludes this chapter of our story. We will return with the next episode of this epic tale. Thank you for joining us in the retelling of the Mahabharata.