The silence of the sepulchral night was broken by the cautious hooting of a barn owl. The crows slept. The owl went straight for the flock leader and opening its beak as wide as it could, snapped the crow’s neck in one swift motion. The death scream of the crow was muffled as the owl shifted its weight towards the broken neck. Ten more crows met the same fate before the flock knew what happened. There was a heady commotion as the flock rose as one against the enemy. The owl, used to night hunting, calmly flew away, never to be seen again.

Two bright eyes gleamed in amazement. A brighter light shone from the pale blue gemstone embedded on the forehead. Ashwathama watched the scenes unfold, holding his breath. He was the owl. The Pandavas were the crows. This was his vengeance.

He walked back and talked the only two surviving Kaurava warriors into helping him. Kripa, Kritavarma and Ashwathama stormed the Pandava camp in the dead of the night. They slew every one of the Pandava survivors of the Mahabharata. Or so they thought.

It was never their intention to kill the Pandava children, but fate had chosen Yudhishthira and his four brothers as its favourites for decades now. The five Pandava brothers were in Hastinapura staking their claim to the throne while the children slept in their fathers’ beds.

Someone screamed, and Ashwathama and his partners knew it was time to flee like the owl that had illuminated their path.

That was not to be.

The three midnight marauders were caught and a bigger battle of much more profound significance ensued. Rules of the battle were broken as everyone fought Ashwathama at once. His hate had made him unstoppable by any one person alone.

Eighteen days ago, it was agreed that all fighting would be one-on-one. Eighteen days ago, it was also agreed that there would be no attack after nightfall or on unarmed men, but rules were broken long before tonight. Not quite as blatantly as today, but the precedent was set long ago and repeated over and over by both parties while this dance of death lasted.

The brothers prevailed. Draupadi was disconsolate learning of the death of all her children. Caught in the act with no escape, Ashwathama upped the stakes and shot the deadliest of all weapons, the Brahmishirastra. Arjuna retaliated with the same weapon, and the fate of the universe hung in balance. Time stood still with divine intervention. Both the warriors were convinced to stop this madness and revoke their arrow. Arjuna did what Krishna bid, but Ashwathama did not have the knowledge or the will to call his weapon back.

The astra had to hit something. Ashwathama concentrated all the power of the weapon on Uttara’s womb but Krishna shielded it to protect the unborn Parikshita, thereby making this the most futile invocation of the destructive arrow.

Kripa was forgotten, for it was not his idea and he was an unwilling participant. Kritavarma was forgiven, as he was but a soldier of fortune who obeyed his masters. The wrath of the Pandavas was unleashed on the unrepentant son of Dronacharya.

Bhima held Ashwathama in a vice-like grip. Yudhishthira unsheathed a knife and calmly carved out the gemstone on the captive’s forehead. Blood started gushing out on his face. Crimson was the hue of the hallowed ground they stood upon. It hurt like hell but Ashwathama was too proud to wince, too proud to cry. But they all knew he was finished. That gemstone was his identity. That gemstone was the real Ashwathama.

He tried to be defiant and smiled a vain smile. "You think taking that worthless stone is your revenge?"

"It’s not revenge we seek, O son of our master. It is justice," said Yudhishthira.

Ashwathama spat on his face.

"Justice has been served, Dharmaraja. But not by you. I’ve brought death to the house of Pandavas who dishonourably killed their kin and master, along with countless innocents. I have destroyed every last Pandava. You will live your lives with no descendants and die knowing your line is finished. I am justice personified. I am death incarnate," said Ashwathama to Yudhishthira, proud of having slain sleeping warriors and innocent children, and unaware that Krishna would save Abhimanyu’s seed in Uttara’s womb. Unaware that the last Pandava child, the grandson of Arjuna, would live and grow to be a better king than all his ancestors before him and all his descendants after him.

Krishna watched silently as all this unfolded. When the high drama seemed to quiet down a notch, he spoke.

"You think death is the biggest punishment, you fool? There is a bigger one still. Eternal life." said Krishna. "I curse you to live forever. No man can kill you, nor woman. No weapon will bring you death, nor old age. Jump from the highest peak or drown in the deepest ocean, death will be denied to you. Eat the deadliest poison for a year or starve for a century, your worthless life will not be taken. Let the Lord of Death smash you to a pulp with his mace or trample you under his beast of burden, you will come out unscathed. Every wound you or others inflict upon your person will heal, except one. Your forehead will never heal, reminding you every day of the mani that adorned it. Your wound will fill with pus and unspeakable filth. It will fester and bleed, and attract flies and maggots. Some days, it will look like it is healing. It’ll give you hope for a day. It will be worse come the morrow, and worse still the day after. You’ll live your life shunned by everyone, and find yourself unwelcome wherever you set foot. Food will lose all taste in your mouth. The only place you’ll eat is where there is death and destruction. Be gone Ashwathama, a lifetime of suffering awaits you."