Uttara's Lament Poem by Shankaran Kutty

Alone she sat in the battlefield
Her husband’s head in her lap
At sixteen, a mere trifle of a boy he was
His face serene as in a nap

“Arise my dear, you have to see your child
Who grows in my womb”, she cried
In a battlefield strewn with death
No one heard the young bride.

In twilight glow, all around her
She does not hear any cheer
All she hears is the sound of death
Of death, she does not fear.

She looked around and all she could see
Was death, so dark and gory
Is this what the war was fought for
Is this the winners glory?

The war was done, the winners gone,
But hark, who the heroes maybe
Does a lie to get your teacher killed
Bring glory, for the king to be?

“But tell me pithashree, in using Shikandi
What glory did you find?
In killing one who always loved you
Did you never mind?

And oh tell me what joy it brought
To see your brother lying dead
When he pleaded time, to pull his wheel
Before you shot arrows to his head

You can be proud of your son, dad
He was bravest of the brave so few
For when he entered the Chakravyuha
He will never come back he knew

He fought so hard, he fought so brave
He fought till his energy was spent
But proud you can be, as proud I am
That he never flinched till the very end”

What cruel heart could have hacked to death
A wisp of a boy so cute
To do this would have brought no fame
To warriors of such repute

But he was also their son, wasn’t he
One from their flesh and blood
One for whom they toys did make
And sang lullabies to bed.

She was too small to understand
The politics of the great war
That caused men to come and die
From kingdoms all so far

But for her all this war had bought
Was a heart full of sorrow
Never started living her life, yet
Here she was, a widow.

“Arise, my child”, the soft voice rolled,
And lifted the sobbing bride.
“Unto me your sorrows”, Lord Krishna said
As he gently pulled her aside

“Tomorrow, O Madhava, when my son grows up
What tales shall I tell him of thee
Of a brave and fearless warrior king
Or of deceit, and treachery

Is this the Dharma you told Partha
When to slaughter his dear, he feared
And where was that Dharma to protect my Lord
When to his untimely death he neared

You are the Lord, the Lord of seven worlds
Couldn’t you have stopped this war?
My son would have had his father, the widows their men
Why did you take it this far?

Can all the wealth that this war has won
Give back my Abhi to me
If not, then all ye warriors hear
Nothing but shame to thee.

It is time for you to celebrate the win
But don’t you show me your face
For remember, in me does grow
The last hope for the Pandava race”

Thus spoke in anger and sorrow did she
As the Lord pulled her to his breast
“My child, answers I do not have
For those that you have asked in quest “

“But Blessed you will be and through your son
Your name is here to stay.
Bharatvarsha will owe you its name
Long after we haveall gone away.”

A mom to be, but child she was
And the twinkle returned to her eyes
As a Kshatriya princess, her fate she knew
Was where her duty lies.

She turned and walked into the setting sun
Across the battlefield
In the midst of death, her face serene
To perform her noble deed.