Vyasa Reveals His Son to the Kauravas

Vyasa arrived unannounced, as always. The blind king sensed his father's presence before any servant could announce it.

Dhritarashtra: "Father. You've come about the war."

Vyasa: "I've come about your choice. I can give you sight. Not permanently—just for the duration of the battle. Would you like to see your sons die?"

The question hung in the air, brutal in its simplicity.

Dhritarashtra: "I... I don't know."

Vyasa: "Honest answer. Most kings would pretend certainty."

Dhritarashtra: "Can you stop this war, Father? You have power. You have knowledge. You could—"

Vyasa: "I could nothing. I am not a participant in this story. I am its recorder. I see all, I understand all, and I prevent nothing."

Dhritarashtra: "Then what use is your wisdom?"

Vyasa: "My wisdom is for those who come after. They will read this tale. They will learn from your mistakes—and from the Pandavas' mistakes—and perhaps, some of them, will choose differently."

Dhritarashtra: "You speak as if you know the outcome."

Vyasa: "I know every outcome. This war will kill millions. It will end your line. It will break the Pandavas in ways they cannot imagine. And it is absolutely necessary."

Dhritarashtra: "Necessary? How can such destruction be necessary?"

Vyasa: "Because some evils cannot be reformed. They can only be ended. Your son Duryodhana is not evil because he was born wrong. He is evil because you never said no. Because you let him believe that want was the same as deserve. Every time you looked away from his cruelty, you made this war more inevitable."

Dhritarashtra: "You blame me."

Vyasa: "I state facts. Blame is a game for those who have time to waste. Do you want the sight or not?"

Dhritarashtra: "I don't think I could bear it."

Vyasa: "Then I'll give the vision to Sanjaya. He will narrate the battle to you. You will hear everything—every death, every cry, every moment of glory and horror. You will not see, but you will know."

Dhritarashtra: "Is that mercy or cruelty?"

Vyasa: "It's neither. It's truth. Truth is neither kind nor unkind. It simply is. Prepare yourself, son. The next eighteen days will teach you everything you refused to learn in eighty years."

Dhritarashtra: "Father—"

Vyasa: "Yes?"

Dhritarashtra: "Do you grieve? For what's coming?"

Vyasa: "I grieve, for what's already gone. For the children who could have been raised differently. For the love that could have prevented hatred. For all the moments when wisdom was offered and pride said no. The war is just the symptom. The disease began long ago."

He left. Dhritarashtra sat in his darkness, finally understanding why it had been a blessing.