I grew up listening to the stories of the Mahabharata from my mother, who read aloud daily from Kashiram Das’s Bengali rendition with unwavering devotion. It was more than a habit. It was a lifelong discipline that lasted over six decades. Each session would conclude with the lines “Mahabharater katha amrit saman, Kashiram Das kohe sune punyaban,” suggesting that only the virtuous are fortunate enough to hear these sacred narratives. Her voice carried emotion that mirrored the events she read. When the war unfolded in the epic, her expressions would shift with each turn of fate. Even after completing the text, when she began again from the first chapter, it felt as though the story was new to her. The last time I saw her, she had just read the episode of Abhimanyu’s death. She appeared deeply disturbed by the injustice of it. At that time, I did not fully grasp the weight of that moment.
The killing of Abhimanyu is one of the most unsettling episodes in the Mahabharata. It is not merely the story of a young warrior’s death. It represents a collapse of ethical order, where those entrusted with upholding righteousness abandon their principles. It is a narrative that transcends mythology and enters the realm of moral philosophy, raising enduring questions about duty, justice, and complicity.
Abhimanyu symbolizes youthful courage, discipline, and an unflinching commitment to duty. On the thirteenth day of the Kurukshetra war, he was tasked with breaking into the Chakravyuha, a complex and nearly impenetrable military formation designed by Dronacharya. Abhimanyu had learned how to penetrate this formation while still in his mother’s womb, but he did not know how to exit it. Despite this limitation, and in the absence of his father Arjuna, he stepped forward without hesitation. His decision was not reckless. It was rooted in a deep sense of duty and urgency.
What followed was not a fair battle, but a coordinated violation of the established codes of dharma-yuddha, the ethical framework governing warfare. Once Abhimanyu entered the Chakravyuha, he found himself isolated. The Pandava forces that were meant to support him were blocked, most notably by Jayadratha. This ensured that Abhimanyu would face the Kaurava warriors alone.
He was then attacked simultaneously by several seasoned fighters, including Karna, Kripacharya, and Ashwatthama. These were warriors who had been trained in the highest ideals of honour and fairness. Yet, in that moment, they chose to abandon those ideals. They destroyed his chariot, killed his horses, broke his weapons, and attacked him when he was defenceless. This was not victory achieved through valour. It was the destruction of a lone warrior through collective injustice.
This episode marks a profound moral rupture. Even in war, there are limits that preserve a sense of humanity. When those limits are crossed, conflict descends into barbarity. The killing of Abhimanyu represents such a descent. What makes it even more troubling is the presence of revered figures like Dronacharya and Kripacharya. They were not mere spectators. They were custodians of knowledge and ethics. Their failure to intervene, and in some cases their participation, turned silence into complicity.
The consequences of this act unfolded swiftly and decisively. Arjuna, upon learning of his son’s death, vowed to kill Jayadratha before sunset the next day. This vow altered the course of the war. By the end of the following day, Jayadratha was slain. His death was not simply an act of revenge. It was a moral response to his role in enabling injustice.
Dronacharya’s fate was more complex. A master of warfare and a revered teacher, he allowed his loyalty to the Kaurava throne to overshadow his commitment to righteousness. His end came not through physical defeat, but through psychological collapse. When he was led to believe that his son Ashwatthama had died, he lost the will to fight and was ultimately killed. His fall illustrates how moral compromise weakens even the strongest individuals from within.
Karna’s role in the killing of Abhimanyu casts a shadow over his otherwise celebrated character. Known for his generosity and personal honour, he nonetheless participated in an act that violated the very principles he stood for. In a striking parallel, Karna himself was later killed when his chariot wheel was stuck and he stood defenceless. The echo of Abhimanyu’s fate is unmistakable. The injustice he once enabled returned to him in a similar form.
Duryodhana, the central figure behind the conflict, met his end at the hands of Bhima. His defeat represented not just the fall of a warrior, but the collapse of an entire worldview that justified wrongdoing in pursuit of power. The controversial nature of his death reflects the degraded ethical environment that his own actions had fostered.
Ashwatthama’s fate was different. He did not die in battle. Instead, he was cursed by Krishna to wander the earth in perpetual suffering. His punishment was not physical death, but an endless existence marked by guilt and isolation. It serves as a reminder that some consequences are internal and enduring.
Kripacharya survived the war, but survival in this context carries its own burden. To live on after witnessing the destruction of one’s allies, knowing that one failed to act when it mattered most, is itself a form of reckoning. Survival does not always equate to redemption.
Taken together, these outcomes reinforce a consistent moral principle. None of those involved in the injustice escaped consequence. Whether through death, humiliation, psychological collapse, or lifelong remorse, each faced a fate that reflected their actions. The Mahabharata thus affirms that justice, though delayed, is ultimately unavoidable.
The relevance of this episode extends far beyond its mythological setting. In contemporary society, wrongdoing is rarely the act of a single individual. It is often enabled by systems, justified by authority figures, and tolerated by bystanders. Corruption and injustice persist not because they are unstoppable, but because they go unchallenged.
The story of Abhimanyu compels us to confront an uncomfortable truth. Silence in the face of wrongdoing is not neutrality. It is participation. The elders on the battlefield were not absolved by their inaction. They were implicated by it.
It also raises important questions about leadership. Individuals in positions of authority carry a greater responsibility because their actions influence others. When leaders compromise on principles, they create an environment where ethical erosion becomes normalized.
At the same time, Abhimanyu stands as a powerful symbol of courage and integrity. His willingness to enter the Chakravyuha despite knowing the risks reflects a commitment to duty that transcends personal safety. His life, though brief, becomes a standard against which the actions of others are judged.
Ultimately, the story is not only about how Abhimanyu died, but about how others chose to act or remain silent. It reminds us that character is revealed not in moments of comfort, but in moments of moral crisis.
As we navigate the complexities of modern life, this lesson remains deeply relevant. Wrongdoing does not exist in isolation. It thrives in environments where it is tolerated or ignored. To look away is to allow it to grow.
The battlefield of Kurukshetra belongs to another age, but the ethical dilemmas it presents are timeless. The question it leaves us with is as urgent today as it was then. When faced with injustice, will we have the courage to stand up, or will we choose the easier path of silence?
Dr. Bishnupada Sethi
Dr. Sethi serves as the Chaiman of OFDC and Chief Administrator of KBK districts of Odisha.
