Krishna and Ashwatthama - After the Night Massacre

The dawn was red. Blood red. Ashwatthama stood in the ruins of the Pandava camp, his father's pearl still glowing on his forehead, his sword still dripping with the blood of children.

Krishna found him there, unmoving, staring at his hands.

Krishna: "So, It is done."

Ashwatthama didn't turn.

Ashwatthama: "They killed my father. Dragged him from his chariot. Made him kneel in the dust before cutting off his head. My father—the greatest teacher who ever lived—killed like a common criminal."

Krishna: "By deception. As you have now killed by deception. At night. While they slept."

Ashwatthama: "Is there a difference? Dead is dead."

Krishna: "There is every difference. Drona was killed in battle. These were children, Ashwatthama. Draupadi's sons. They held no weapons. They had no chance."

Ashwatthama: "Drona held no weapon when he died! He had laid down his bow, believing his son was dead—a lie they told to break his heart. And when his heart was broken, when he sat in meditation, Dhrishtadyumna cut his head off. Where was dharma then?"

Krishna: "I do not defend that act."

Ashwatthama: "No. You just enabled it. You think I don't know? You orchestrated every death on that battlefield. Bhishma, Drona, Karna—all fell because of your schemes, your lies, your manipulations. And now you come to judge me?"

Krishna: "I come to end this."

Ashwatthama: "It can never end! Don't you understand? Every death creates another death. Every vengeance begets another vengeance. You killed my father, so I killed their children. Now they will hunt me. And I will hunt them. Forever and ever and—"

Krishna: "And this is what you want? Eternal violence?"

Ashwatthama: "I want my father back. I want to be a boy again, in the ashram, watching him teach. I want to unsee his headless body. I want to unhear Dhrishtadyumna's boasting. I want..."

He sobbed—great, tearing sobs that shook his entire body.

Krishna knelt beside him. When he spoke, his voice was gentle.

Krishna: "What you want cannot be. What is done cannot be undone. But what comes next—that is still a choice."

Ashwatthama: "There is no choice. Arjuna will come. We will fight. One of us will die."

Krishna: "Or you could surrender the gem. End this."

Ashwatthama clutched the pearl on his forehead—the gem that granted him immortality, that marked him as Drona's son.

Ashwatthama: "Never."

Krishna: "Then hear your future. You will not die. I curse you to live—forever. Wandering. Alone. That wound on your forehead where the gem sat will never heal. It will fester and bleed for eternity. You will be unable to die, unable to rest, unable to find peace. You will watch civilizations rise and fall. You will see your pain repeated a million times in a million forms. And you will never forget this night—the night you murdered children and called it justice."

Ashwatthama's face went pale.

Ashwatthama: "You cannot—"

Krishna: "I already have. The Pandavas may kill you a thousand times, but you will rise again. Not as a blessing—as a curse. You sought immortality through your father's legacy. Now you will have it. Forever."

Ashwatthama: "Please—"

Krishna: "You should have asked for mercy before you entered that tent. Before you looked at sleeping children and saw enemies. Before you became exactly what you claimed to hate."

He walked away, leaving Ashwatthama kneeling in the blood, the first immortal not in heaven but in hell—a hell of his own making that would never, ever end.