By Subhobrato Mukherjee
Within the tapestry of antiquity's loom,
Unveils a saga of Ashwatthama, veiled in gloom,
Mahabharata's pages, his story unfolds,
A warrior's odyssey, of valour and woes.
Drona's progeny, a princely birthright,
Ashwatthama emerged, a beacon of might,
Yet destiny's web, intricate and profound,
Spun a tale of anguish, a tragic rebound.
From Kripi's embrace, celestial and fair,
Sprang Ashwatthama, a name borne on air,
An epitome of prowess, unmatched, untamed,
In war's artistry, his prowess was famed.
Kurukshetra's plain, where destinies entwine,
Clashes of armies, war-drums did define,
Amidst the chaos, Ashwatthama stood tall,
A paragon of courage, in valour’s enthral.
But as days marched on, and battles did rage,
Fate's cruel hand did turn a bitter page,
In sorrow enshrouded, a twist unforeseen,
His father, Drona, in life's altar between.
Cursed by Krishna's ire, his hand set ablaze,
Brahmadanda's weight, through time's endless maze,
Immortal yet accursed, a lone wanderer's plight,
Ashwatthama's journey, a sea of endless night.
Gems of tears cascading like blood-red rain,
A solitary voyager, burdened by pain,
Guilt's heavy yoke, his constant companion,
A tale of redemption in endless abandon.
Oh, Ashwatthama, enigma of strength and despair,
In the annals of time, your legacy rare,
Mahabharata's tapestry, you stand undeterred,
A symbol of humanity, its virtues and blurred.
Through cycles of ages, your echo shall persist,
A ballad of triumphs and lament's soft twist,
Ashwatthama's chronicle, an ancient lore,
A poignant reminder, forever to explore.
By Subhobrato Mukherjee
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