Kurukshetra is done and over. Mangled bodies lie strewn all over the place. The lifeless bodies remain the stark reminder that a gruesome battle is held ruthlessly. Shape of humanity is contorted. Idea of humanity gets perverted. Distortion is the order of day.
Restoration of order is the immediate task — Yudhishthira broods hard as he wades through the sea of dead bodies. Here and there he stumbles upon charred bodies, struck down by pulverizing bolts thrown down from above by gods, burnt beyond recognition. Sometimes he tumbles upon bodies of youth who look as fresh as they would have been, has not life deserted them due to targeted hit of arrows piercing through their chests measuredly. His feet are mired in blood streaming along in a bizarre demonstration of weird mentality of mankind: war.
Victory is achieved, but at a huge cost: physical and mental. Yudhishthira realizes. Physical cost is immeasurable. Mental cost is irreplenishable. He ponders.
On his journey to heaven, Yudhishthira has come across hell where his brothers, Droupadi, Karna and Shikhondin are tossed about in stupendous torture. He forsakes heaven in response to fraternal call. Hell he stays put to.
Suddenly a fragrance overwhelms the place after Yudhishthira spends one-third of the day in hell. A fresh breeze blows in and it seems to clear away all the darkness that resides there as an internal part.
Yudhishthira looks up. In sheer surprise, he sees Indra, Lord of gods and Dharma, his father, descending and approaching him.
Why have we to suffer hell? Yudhishthira’s face wears the question.
Because all the rulers must experience hell: comes the reply from Dharma in anticipation.
Hell is a learning process for a ruler. Yudhishthira understands and nods at his father who disappears into distance.