By Tripti Priya Mishra
The unconquered warrior has fallen to the ground.
In the deadly deeds of destiny, wounded—by whom could he be found?
The arrows raining on his chariot from the opposite side of the battlefield
Are aimed by the knight who’s surrounded by Shikhandi’s shield.
The court of Kashi is ornamented for a swayamvar,
As the charming noblemen hold their breath.
But little does anyone know, this hall is the birthplace of Bhishma’s death.
Oh! For the princess of grandeur citadels
Is tangled in the thoughts of her lover’s tells.
She embellishes in silk and gold, jasmine in the strands of her hair.
She will garland her beloved and bless themselves with forever love in the air.
The three alluring princesses step in and catch everyone's sight.
To win their hearts, warriors are ready to put up a fight.
However,
Amba’s heart already belongs to the Shalva King—
Elated fantasies in her heart, an ethereal bird sings.
Unknowingly, Bhishma Pitamah shatters a solace so sheer,
Abducts Amba and her sisters to marry King Vichitravirya.
Amba leaves, leaving bruised love behind.
As soon as she reaches the palace, she tells the truth.
Once more, with great pride and honour, the jewel princess merrily departs,
Full of hope to meet her love, singing along to the happy tunes in her heart.
She fantasizes of settling in a serene solace so sheer,
She believes her dream life to be near.
Soon the solace shatters as Shalva refuses to accept
The Amba given in charity.
Men! They live by strange rules—
And revolving around it, Amba felt like a fool.
She stood still and glanced: one abducts,
Another refuses to accept her as his warrior's code of conduct!
She goes back to Hastinapur in search of justice
And desires Bhishma to honour the garland.
But he had vowed to adopt celibacy in practice—
So he couldn’t let any woman rule his heartland.
She turns furious, seeking insults in these courts,
Warns Ganga’s son to fear a wounded tigress and a woman scorned.
A graceful vine transforms into a deadly, irate serpent
And vows to be the cause of Bhishma’s death,
No matter if she has to be born recurrent.
Refuge was not her concern; she wanted revenge—
And in search of that, she followed the path of penance.
Austerities won her the boon from Shiva.
Even though she wouldn’t be born a man,
She’d bring death to the root of the Kuru clan.
The past had taken a new form,
And thus, Shikhandi was born.
Since the start,
He swallowed ashes and used to breathe the air of insult day in and day out.
He closed his eyes, and the court of Kashi laughed at him like demons,
And the weight of humiliation stood on his chest like a devil.
The taint of insult on his forehead
Never allowed him to sleep peacefully in his bed.
He yearned each day
To stand face to face with Bhishma in the warzone—
That one morrow he may
Achieve much above territory and throne.
To demolish the legend was what he took birth for,
And soon pleats of Panchali’s saree brought the world to war.
The Kurukshetra sand blew in wrath with carriages of mighty emperors, princes, and warriors.
Each chariot viewed a man vaulted as victorious.
Never again will history witness such an emblazoned arena—
Nor such an army, nor such brave warriors in assembly.
The Mahabharata stands where history has decided to go beyond Bhishma,
And Shikhandi will help the lore stride,
As he rides the chariot with Arjuna alongside.
He turned into the shield Bhishma couldn’t penetrate,
And the legend fell to the ground as written in his fate.
The Sun dusked upon the light of the Kuru clan, laid on the bed of arrows.
While the brave warriors saluted him, covered in sorrows.
Hence, the weight of insult on Shikhandi’s chest released—
And after ages, Amba will rest in peace.