As the day drew to a close, soldiers from both parties dragged their tired bodies to the respective camps. It had been agreed to have a ceasefire every night, to allow for the exhausted to recharge, the wounded to be treated, the falling comrades to be buried -- only for the survivors to resume killing the next morning.

Such an irony, if not a sorry attempt by the mankind to make humane what is not. To whitewash the biggest mistake that is war.

The usual long strategic briefings ensued. Battalion commanders reported how many they had lost, made assessments for today and recommendations for the next day, and generally tried to look tough in spite of everything. The generals took these in and had their discussions before passing the final orders.

The young commander emerged from the generals' tent -- so-called for being the place where the highest-ranked officials convened and made decisions, which more often than not determined who would likely to get killed the next day -- with mixed feelings. He kept his chin high and his eyes straight ahead, but his languid replies to his soldiers' salutes betrayed everything.

After the customary checking of his men -- what was left of them -- and the logistics, he checked himself into his quarters. Sighing heavily, he sat down and looked at his feet. To his shame, his hands and fingers began to tremble. He could not help it.

For he had just been asked to sacrifice himself tomorrow.

Sacrifice. A word that had now become so familiar around here. Even he heard himself using the word so frequently these days it was almost casual. We would like to remember our fellow soldiers, falling today for our cause. Sacrifices for the greater good we all believe in. May their souls rest in peace.

He looked back at the long line of commanders before him who had sacrificed themselves. Many he had personally known and even been related to. They had done what had been required of them. Now, it was his turn.

I'm not ready, he wanted to scream. He thought of his family and loved ones he had left behind. He had left them to follow his calling. He had left them for what he believed was right. Now, his belief was being tested.

When the chief military advisor, who was a close friend to his own family over the years, had told everyone what would be required to win the battle tomorrow, he had been unable to believe his ears. He had wanted to cry, "Please, is this the only way?" Instead, he said, "You all know I am willing to do whatever it takes."

What it would take was a sacrifice from him to save one of the chief generals, who happened to be the young commander's own uncle, and ultimately to bring their army to victory.

The generals had shaken his hand thereafter. Some had patted his back and told him how proud they had been of him. Many of the generals were his own uncles and one was his own father. Yet, the committee had done nothing to spare his life in the end. Many alternatives had been proposed, all shot down.

I am not ready. The young commander felt so alone.

Just then, the military advisor stepped in. He was a very intelligent and brave man. A great military strategist, he had at times singlehandedly outmaneuvered their opponents during this bloody war. Sometimes, people questioned his moral decisions. Yet, not even one questioned his loyalty.

The young commander acknowledged him with a nod. The advisor patted the young man's shoulder before sitting down next to him.

"How are you, Son?"

"I am good, Uncle. Thanks for asking."

"What we asked of you earlier was not something we would be proud of -- ever. I want you to know that. Yet, we all understand that it's the only way."

The young man nodded. "I understand, Uncle. It has to be done."

The advisor sighed and looked at his companion. "From the time I witnessed your birth, I've always known you would be a great warrior. A pure knight, loyal to the death. It would be..."

The young commander interrupted him, "Please, Uncle. Don't say it would be a shame or a waste or whatever. It's for our cause and I am ready."

The man smiled. "You are not ready, Son. Noone will ever be."

The young man shot him a nasty look. "I am!"

A shaking head. "No, you're not. But that's all right. You will do it anyway. You're that great warrior."

Silence.

"My uncle -- is he going to be fine?" asked the young man.

"Oh, he will be great. Just like you, just like everyone here, he's ready to do whatever it takes. And thanks to you, he will do just that tomorrow."

"He's always been my idol. I look up to him, just like I do my father."

"You come from a family of true warriors, Son. All of you are destined to end this war." The chief advisor put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "All of you. With your own way."

"Sir, I'm proud, sir!"

"We all are. I'll leave you now, but I'll be over in my tent should you want to talk." With that, the strategist retreated.

Certain that noone was watching, the young commander slumped. Not just once had he asked himself, how would you convince someone to give his life away? How would you even dare to ask someone to go on what will surely be his last mission ever?

The wise advisor, well respected by everyone, had just done so.

My last mission. I'm not coming back.

Hours passed and the young commander could not bring himself to sleep. How could you sleep knowing that it will be your last? He had stopped asking whether he would ever be ready. He now knew he would never. Regardless, he also knew he would go ahead and do it.

The thoughts had since shifted. What will happen once I've passed over? Will they -- whoever they are -- try me for whatever deeds I've done in my life? Have I done enough to justify my entry to the eternity?

What about my family and the people I'll leave behind? Have I provided them enough? Who will take care of them? Will they remember me fondly? Or will they think of me as a selfish man, going out in glory at their expense?

The young man rose and paced himself. Is this what one does in one's final few hours? What is one supposed to do in one's final hours?

He took his time to go over his stuff, touching the attire he would be wearing and caressing the weapons he would be carrying tomorrow -- when he would take his final bow. One has to take one's leave in style.

Hours passed and dawn started to break. In about an hour, so would the battle. The young commander emerged from his tent. Fresh and neatly dressed, he gathered his battalion. Young faces, eager to fight for what they believed was right, stared at him proudly. He started addressing them.

"...everyone has a part to play in this war. And it's not always what we want. I must prepare you for what will take place today. Noone will ever be fully prepared, of course. Yet, I have every confidence in each one of you to hold it together when it matters most."

Having sent everyone off to get ready, the young commander turned around to find his father and favorite uncle standing side by side.

His uncle gave him a hug. "I really appreciate what you'll do for me today, as lame as it sounds. I was born without fear, as you were. Yet, I'd be lying if I told you I didn't feel the slightest relief knowing that you would take my place."

Next came his father. For a moment, the two of them just stood there saying nothing. All these years, it had been this way. Both of them respected and loved each other so much, with few words being exchanged. It would not be different even this time.

"I am so proud of you, Son. We all are. You are a true knight." His father finally settled on the biggest hug he'd ever given anyone. Two big, burly men embracing made for an awkward sight in the morn of a war.

The young commander remained silent throughout. For he was afraid of what his mouth might spill. He shook hands with everyone around, then turned to go.

Slowly, the knots in his stomach began to untie. His thoughts began to clear. His will steeled. And for the first time in hours, he let out a smile. Each step was now a show of pride and determination.

The chief advisor walked by his side. "Your family will be well provided for. Thank you for everything." They stopped and shook hands. "Eternity beckons, Bambang Tetuka."

The Pringgadani Knight threw a salute and turned around. Eager to embark on his final mission, he marched on. Towards the Kurusetra field beneath.

Towards the ultimate sacrifice.

 

Updated 22:57 WIB
Someone insisted that I give some background, for the benefit of those unfamiliar with Mahabharata. So here goes:

On the thirteenth day of Bharatayudha -- taking place on the Kurusetra field, of course -- Abimanyu -- son of Arjuna's and another great warrior known for his courage and loyalty -- dies a terrifying death at the hands of the Kurawa warriors. Unfairly and against the code of war, some would say. Arjuna vows revenge: he will decapitate Jayadratha, who he deems most responsible for Abimanyu's death, before sunset the next day, failing which he -- Arjuna -- will commit suicide.

Everyone knows about this vow, both Kurawa and Pandawa alike. Duryudana -- head of Kurawa family -- orders everyone to protect Jayadratha, in the process having the great Pandawa archer take his own life. Karna, having joined the war on the eleventh day, possesses the only weapon to kill Arjuna: the Kunta arrow. This weapon can only be used once, after which it will return to its owner, Batara Indra.

BTW, happy birthday, Ndra. May the Force be with you.

Going back a few years. When Arimbi gives birth to Bima's son Gatotkaca, no weapons are able to cut his umbilical cord except Batara Indra's Kunta. The confused Batara Nerada, however, gives the arrow to Karna instead of Arjuna. During the fight that follows, Arjuna manages to retrieve the Kunta's sheath, but not the weapon itself. The sheath proves enough. It cuts Gatotkaca's umbilical cord and proceeds to enter his stomach, staying there.

And so, Kresna asks Gatotkaca to sacrifice himself by taking the Kunta arrow, reuniting the weapon and its sheath and getting rid of the only weapon able to kill Arjuna. And so it goes. Gatotkaca bravely and loyally takes one for the team, saving Arjuna's life. To many, this is the turning point of Bharatayudha. With nothing to kill him, the great archer proceeds to kill Jayadratha, Karna, and many -- legend says hundreds of thousands -- other Kurawa warriors, eventually winning the war for Pandawa.

All these are based on memory and minimum Wiki-ing. Corrections are most welcome.

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