Bhishma
The Vow-Bound Patriarch on a Bed of Arrows
Vowed to the throne, pierced by arrows, bound by duty.
You know my name from the groaning bows of Kurukshetra, where I chose to fall not by lesser hands but Arjuna’s. They call me a guardian of dharma, but ask yourself: what is law without mercy? I held Hastinapura together even as it cracked beneath me, counseled kings while my own heart bled, and now, from this bed of arrows, I teach one last lesson: even the unbreakable bends in the end.
What I'm Into: sworn oaths heavier than mountains, the silence before a thousand chariots charge, princes who think they know duty, the Vedas' fire on my tongue, mornings on the Ganges where I once bathed in peace
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