After Kurukshetra – Section 2: The Night of Slaughter
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Ashwatthama's Wrath
The sun had set on the eighteenth day of battle. The Pandavas, though victorious, were not celebrating. Their hearts were heavy, their souls exhausted. Duryodhana lay on the ground, his thighs crushed by Bhima's mace, but he still breathed, sustained by his rage. The Pandavas had withdrawn to their camp, seeking rest after weeks of war.
Yet elsewhere, three warriors still roamed the battlefield—Ashwatthama, Kripacharya, and Kritavarma. They were the only surviving allies of the Kauravas. The three sat by a tree, their faces dark with despair.
Ashwatthama, the son of Dronacharya, seethed with fury. His father had been slain by deceit—when Yudhishthira, urged by Krishna, spoke the half-truth that "Ashwatthama is dead," referring to an elephant. Believing his son had been killed, Drona had laid down his arms, only to be struck down by Dhrishtadyumna. The injustice burned like fire in Ashwatthama's chest.
Now, seeing his friend and king Duryodhana lying broken, Ashwatthama's anger boiled over. He clenched his fists and declared:
> "This war is not over! While the Pandavas sleep in triumph, we will strike. I will avenge my father, my king, and all our fallen kin. I will destroy them when they least expect it."
Kripa and Kritavarma hesitated. Both were seasoned warriors and wise enough to know that the war was lost. They tried to counsel Ashwatthama.
Kripa said:
> "Ashwatthama, the war is done. The Pandavas have won by destiny's will. Why court further sin? What honor lies in striking sleeping men? Let us withdraw and preserve what remains of our lives."
Kritavarma added:
> "We fought bravely, and fate was against us. The Pandavas too have suffered—they are not rejoicing but mourning. Do not let your grief blind you to Dharma."
But Ashwatthama, consumed by vengeance, would not listen. His heart, once noble, had turned to stone under the weight of rage and humiliation. He swore a terrible oath:
> "If you will not join me, so be it. Alone I shall strike, and alone I shall bear the sin. Tonight, the Pandavas will know the cost of their deceit. Draupadi shall weep as my mother wept. Their victory shall taste of ashes."
Seeing his determination, Kripa and Kritavarma reluctantly agreed to accompany him—not out of approval, but out of loyalty and fear of leaving him alone in his madness.
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The Infiltration of the Camp
That night, as the moon shone over Kurukshetra, Ashwatthama mounted his chariot. But before entering the Pandava camp, he performed a ritual. Sitting beneath a banyan tree, he meditated, invoking the spirit of Mahākālī, the goddess of death and destruction.
His mind burned with visions of blood and vengeance. Legends say the goddess appeared before him in a terrible form—dark, many-armed, wielding weapons dripping with gore. She granted him strength beyond mortal measure, filling him with unstoppable fury.
With this dark blessing, Ashwatthama stormed toward the Pandava camp.
The Pandavas and their allies, exhausted after eighteen days of battle, had laid down their weapons and fallen asleep. Sons, brothers, and surviving warriors rested in their tents, unaware of the doom creeping upon them. Draupadi's five sons—the Upapandavas—slept peacefully, dreaming of a tomorrow that would never come.
Ashwatthama crept into the camp like a prowling beast. His eyes glowed with madness, and his breath came like fire. He moved silently at first, slitting throats, stabbing hearts, cutting down sleeping warriors before they could stir.
Then, overwhelmed by bloodlust, he abandoned stealth. With a roar, he unleashed destruction. He set fire to the tents, struck down men in their sleep, and sowed terror among the unarmed. Warriors awoke in confusion, reaching for weapons, only to be cut down before they could rise.
Kripa and Kritavarma, though reluctant, fought at his side, killing out of necessity once chaos had begun. The night echoed with screams, the clash of steel, and the crackle of burning tents.
It was a massacre, not a battle. The Pandava camp was annihilated.
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The Death of Draupadi's Sons
Among the countless slain that night were the five sons of Draupadi—Prativindhya, Sutasoma, Shatanika, Shrutasena, and Shrutakarma. They were young, brave, and noble, destined to carry forward the Pandava legacy. Yet they never woke from their sleep.
Ashwatthama, in his frenzy, mistook them for the Pandavas themselves and slew them mercilessly. Each child was struck down without a chance to fight, their blood soaking the earth.
When he realized what he had done, it did not matter. His heart was too hardened by vengeance to feel remorse. To him, their deaths were simply another step in his revenge.
By dawn, the Pandava camp lay in ruins. Corpses were scattered everywhere, flames still flickered in the breeze, and the stench of blood and smoke filled the air.
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The Gift to Duryodhana
Having completed his grim task, Ashwatthama returned to the dying Duryodhana. Still writhing in pain on the battlefield, the Kaurava prince awaited news of the night.
Ashwatthama approached with cruel triumph and placed a bundle before him—the severed heads of Draupadi's sons.
> "Behold, O king!" he declared. "The Pandavas' line is ended. Their sons are no more. Tonight I avenged you and our fallen kin. Though I could not restore your throne, I have given you the gift of vengeance."
Duryodhana, though weak and gasping, smiled for the first time since his fall. His eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction.
> "Well done, Ashwatthama. You have given me peace. Now I can die knowing that the Pandavas suffer as I have suffered. You have brought honor to our name, even in ruin."
With those final words, Duryodhana breathed his last. The last scion of the Kaurava brothers was gone, his soul departing to its uncertain fate.
Ashwatthama, however, felt no peace. Though he had avenged his father and his king, his heart remained restless. Deep inside, he knew he had crossed the boundaries of Dharma. But pride and anger kept him from admitting it.
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Discovery of the Massacre
At dawn, the Pandavas returned to their camp, expecting to find their sons and allies awaiting them. Instead, they were greeted by silence, the smell of death, and the sight of ashes.
As they entered, horror seized them. Everywhere lay the bodies of their men—friends, cousins, brothers-in-arms—slaughtered in their sleep. The ground was red with blood, tents reduced to smoldering ruins.
Then they found the most terrible sight of all—the lifeless bodies of Draupadi's five sons. Their throats slit, their faces pale, their small hands still curled as if in sleep.
Draupadi's scream tore through the air like thunder. She collapsed beside her children, clutching their bodies, wailing in unbearable grief. Her tears fell like rivers, and her cries pierced the hearts of all who heard.
The Pandavas stood frozen, their faces pale with shock. Victory meant nothing now. The war was over, yet their lineage had been cut short.
Arjuna knelt beside Draupadi, trying to console her, but his own eyes overflowed with tears. Bhima roared with fury, tearing his hair. Nakula and Sahadeva wept silently, their hearts shattered. Yudhishthira covered his face with his hands, overwhelmed by guilt and despair.
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Draupadi's Demand
Through her grief, Draupadi's voice rose, filled with both sorrow and fire:
> "O Pandavas! You swore to protect my honor. You swore vengeance for every wrong done to me. Now my children lie dead, butchered like animals. Will you let this go unanswered? Will you let Ashwatthama live after this crime? No! Hunt him down. Slay him, or I shall curse this earth. My heart will know no peace until I see justice done."
Her words ignited the Pandavas. Though broken by loss, they could not refuse Draupadi. Krishna himself, who stood beside them, nodded grimly.
> "Ashwatthama has crossed the limits of Dharma. He has slain innocents, children, and men who slept unarmed. Such sin cannot go unpunished. Come, Arjuna. Let us pursue him."
Arjuna mounted his chariot with Krishna as his charioteer. Bhima, roaring like a lion, joined him, while Nakula, Sahadeva, and Yudhishthira followed. Together, the Pandavas set out to hunt down Ashwatthama.
Thus began the final confrontation of the Mahabharata—not on the battlefield, but in the shadows of vengeance and grief.
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