“Your boy, or twelve hundred craftsmen, you chose”, this is the question the craftsmen have been asking since last few hours. Bishu doesn’t want to choose; maybe the king can understand and reward them all for their efforts. Just one hour to sunrise, then the king will come, and then he can explain, he just needs to stall these mounting pressure, just an hour Bishu, only one hour.
All this demand rose from the feeling of fear; now it’s turned to an ego. And when ego drives a human, he becomes a monster, and now there are eleven hundred ninety-nine of them. They are getting aware of Bishu’s plan. Now they are becoming furious, cursing Bishu, calling him unworthy. They might take the matter to their hand, the hands which felt short to a child’s tiny hands.
Dharma now aware of the whole situation, nobody can disrespect his father, neither no one should die, after all, he did all this to save them all. His heart wrenches when he sees torn father, sitting in his knees, with palm in his old sturdy face. Sand is wet, not with the incessant rain but with his tear. He might not understand what the human ego is but knows to live for others. So he once looks at his father and starts running from him.
He gives a big jump and grips the bottom step of Konark’s chariot like top part. He uses his full strength and climbs vigorously, he is exhausted, but there is no time. Bishu’s calling with his entire force, but dharma’s ears are now closed. He is slipping, winding his limbs but climbing, no on the top of the temple, on the keystone he has built.
Everyone is shocked, embarrassed, Bishu’s weeping. Dharama turned towards them, looked for a while, then bent his knees and bow to the rising sun. The ego of the people is now shattered; they want this kid back, the one who did everything he can, who can take this tribe to new heights. But they chose dirt, they don’t deserve him, and Dharama has decided. He stands up, gives a big leap to the ocean beneath the enormous chariot, leaving behind the sun temple, which is the epitome of craftsmanship.
The sea never returned Dharama; maybe she loves him more than any human. What happens to these craftsmen nobody knows, but Dharama always remains on top of them like the keystone on the temple.
A mother lost, a nation lost on that day just to teach the lesson of “sacrifice”.