I quit! I lay down my
arms once and for all, Krishna,
this is an unjust war.
Even that old one you
made me fight
equipped with the dharma
of nishkama karma
was not all that ethical,
you know very well.
We cheated many a time
in order to win.
We won
but Ashwatthama had the
last laugh.
Who are we now fighting?
Those whose ancestors
conquered our ancestors,
ruled over us,
set up their god over
ours,
and wrecked our temples?
Can we remedy the ills of
history that lies dead and rotten?
Can we reinstate the
valour of our warriors
who were beaten
thoroughly and disgracefully?
Does our present honour
depend so unabashedly
on rewriting the epitaphs
on ancient tombstones?
Who are we now fighting?
Those whom we kept suppressed
and oppressed
worse than the animals we
slaughtered to please our gods,
those who bore our shame
and shamelessness
as their burden for
centuries and centuries?
Does our dignity depend
so much
on the indignity we heap
on others?
Do we have to mount high
and higher
on the bent backs of
these pathetic creatures
with human shapes and
enslaved souls,
enslaved by us
eternally?
No, Krishna, I quit.
I lay down the arms.
Go and utter your Gita in
the ears
of the deaf warriors
whose hearts are black
with toxin.
I quit.
Ashwatthama is slouching
towards Indraprastha
to have the last laugh.
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