The Mahabharata: A Modern Rendering (2 Vols.), page 94
Bheema jumped up and, his eyes turning crimson, began to pace the floor like a great tiger, growling from time to time. Sahadeva’s face was dark, his chest heaved as if his rage would erupt from him in fire. Arjuna, his mouth a grim line, glanced at Krishna. Krishna read his impulse clearly: to stop this negotiation with evil, to ride to Hastinapura and burn its malignant king.
Drupada sat stricken, hardly able to believe what he heard. Draupadi trembled where she sat. For a moment, perfect silence held the sabha. Yudhishtira also was too shocked to speak. He had not dreamt his uncle would go to this insane extent. The Pandava’s mind flashed back to all the years when he had obeyed Dhritarashtra implicitly, loved him like a father, trusted him absolutely. Coldness gripped his heart; he felt invisible hands were strangling him.
Then he realized that his brothers and all the kings were waiting for him to answer Dhritarashtra. Panic swept over Pandu’s son; for the thing that held him in a vice would not allow him to breathe, let alone speak. At that moment, he turned to Krishna. In the Dark One’s eyes he saw complete understanding of what he felt, and a wave of relief flooded him. At Krishna’s look, the evil that seized Yudhishtira faltered and released him.
His heart still pounding, but fury driving fear from his body, the Pandava found the courage to speak. In a steady voice, he said warningly, “Sanjaya, you are only a messenger so I will not show you my anger. But from now, be careful what you say in this sabha. Don’t forget I am not a brahmana, but a kshatriya. Perhaps, Dhritarashtra believes some of what he accuses me of, before all these, my dearest ones on earth. It is not my place to answer an elder in an open sabha. It is his privilege to believe whatever he wants, and my dharma to keep what I think to myself.
“As for the reply, which my uncle obviously expects from me, I leave that to Krishna. He has heard everything you said. Let him decide if we should desist from war because of the message Dhritarashtra sends,” his voice sank, “or whether we should have war just because of his message. Whatever I have done so far has been with Krishna’s blessing. Today, I relinquish my will and my future to him. Let him decide what we must do, I will abide by his decision.”
Only the Dark One saw, in his clear heart, how more subtle pieces of fate fell in place for a bloody war. He had come to remove a burden of evil from the earth, and his brilliant life had not been a peaceful one. But this final war between the forces of darkness and light would be an unprecedented purification. The war on the brink of the ages would shed more blood than any previous one, and the grateful earth would be lighter by millions of arrogant lives. Then she could cross easily into the age to come, the diminished kali yuga, with no power left upon her that might dominate the coming night.
The true reasons for Krishna’s birth into the world at the age’s end were as mysterious as life itself, as inscrutable as he was. But he had come to cleanse the earth, and the Kuru war was to be the climax of that ceremony. Knowing how inexorable destiny is, Krishna smiled to himself at these courtly messages and deliberations.
But in the council in Upaplavya, he said, “Sanjaya, I am moved that my cousin relinquishes his very fate to me, the welfare of the Pandavas is my first concern. Yet, I would also like Dhritarashtra’s sons to have long lives. Your king’s message is strange indeed. It seems to me, he seeks to blame Yudhishtira for Duryodhana’s crimes.
“After the game of dice, we all urged Yudhishtira to take back with force what he had been deprived of by low deceit. But he said he was also to blame for what had happened, and the path of dharma led surely through thirteen years of exile. Now the blind one in Hastinapura dares fault him for his rectitude, for his majestic patience. Sanjaya, a thief must be punished. Even a king who takes what is not his, is just a thief. To my mind, Yudhishtira should punish Duryodhana; it is his kshatriya dharma.
“There will be no peace, as long as Duryodhana holds what rightfully belongs to Yudhishtira. I say, not only is Duryodhana a thief, but his father Dhritarashtra is also one. Didn’t he encourage his son to take what did not belong to him? Didn’t he enjoy the fruits of Duryodhana’s sin? Even now Dhritarashtra does not want to give back what is not his to keep: what he gave away, long ago, though it was only a desert then. And Dhritarashtra dares preach peace to Yudhishtira, who is an image of dharma on earth? I would laugh at his temerity, were it not so heartless and so tragic.
“I still say to you, Yudhishtira does not want this war. And neither do I. We do not wish to stain the earth with the blood of eleven aksauhinis, or even to kill Dhritarashtra’s sons. Let them return Indraprastha to Yudhishtira, and there will be no war. Only Yudhishtira’s selfless nature makes this solution possible. A lesser man would have extracted terrible revenge for the shame he and his brothers, and, most of all, Draupadi suffered in Hastinapura, and for thirteen bitter years of exile. Can Duryodhana even imagine what these lords of the earth endured when they were deprived, in a day, of everything they had?”
This was not the genial Krishna, whom everyone knew and loved; it was another Krishna, grave and fearsome. He spoke softly, slowly, and there was no laughter in him at all. “Yes, return to your king and tell him what I say to you now. Tell every man in that sabha Krishna said each one of them deserves to die for what they did to Panchali on the day of the game of dice. I except no one: not the elders, who sat by and watched what happened without stirring to stop it. All of them, save Vidura, deserve to die. Sanjaya, tell Karna that Arjuna has never forgotten what he said to Draupadi on that day. Tell him my cousin does not sleep at nights because he hears those words murmuring in his head, relentlessly.
“Tell Dusasana, Bheema has not forgotten what he tried to do to the precious Panchali. Remind him of Bheema’s oath. Tell Dusasana that Draupadi has not yet tied her hair; she is waiting to wash it in his blood before she does. Tell Duryodhana that, awake and asleep, Bheema sees the thigh on which he dared call Panchali to sit. Ah, Sanjaya, you know everything that happened. I am surprised that you bring this message to us from your king. Go back and tell them Sahadeva has not forgotten the oath he swore to kill Shakuni. Every day he thinks of the smile on Shakuni’s face, when he told Yudhishtira across the dice-board, ‘You still have Draupadi to wager.’
“Every morning, at his prayers, Nakula renews his oath to kill Uluka. I need say no more. Dhritarashtra has not sent you here because he truly wants peace or to give up his greed, but only because he is afraid. We want peace not because we are afraid, but because we do not want to see kshatriya kind destroyed by the war; because Yudhishtira still cares for the lives not only of his brothers, but of his cousins. That is a great difference, Sanjaya. I know Yudhishtira; he does not want to make widows of the Kauravas’ wives. But Duryodhana is full of darkness and obstinacy.
“Go back to your king, and say all this to him. Say I will come myself to Hastinapura, soon, to try to make them see reason. I do not think I will succeed, but I will surely come and try. In the meanwhile, tell Dhritarashtra he did not choose his words wisely when he sent his message through you. He does Yudhishtira an injustice; and if Duryodhana does not relent, this foolish message will be answered with arrows.
“There are two trees in this generation of the Kuru House. One is a sinister tree that grows in Hastinapura, a tree of evil. Its name is Duryodhana. Its trunk is Karna, its branches are Shakuni, its flower is Dusasana, and its deep roots from where it truly springs, is your blind king, with his secretive heart: cowardly, dangerous, cold-blooded Dhritarashtra.
“Look here, at the other Kuru tree, fair and lustrous: a tree of dharma and wisdom called Yudhishtira. Arjuna is its trunk, Bheema its branches, Nakula and Sahadeva are its fruit and flowers.” Krishna smiled suddenly, “And I am the root of this tree of light. A storm will sweep the earth, a savage storm of war. Think carefully, Sanjaya, which of these trees shall withstand that storm?
“Go now, you have reply enough from us to take back to your king. Tell him everything we said to you. Say the Pandavas wish fervently for peace, and peace there will be if Yudhishtira’s kingdom is returned to him. Otherwise, there will be war, and the war will be the end of the Kauravas.”
Sanjaya said sadly, “Yudhishtira, the message I brought was not my own, nor does it express what I feel. I am only my king’s voice, when I come as his messenger. I have known you and your brothers since you were boys, and you know how fond I am of you. You must not think harshly of me, and you must not either, Krishna. I have always wished the sons of Pandu well, and I still do. Now give me a message for the king.”
Yudhishtira had regained his composure. Gently he said, “I did not mean to hurt you, Sanjaya, but I was stung by my uncle’s message. You have always loved us as much as Vidura has, and I am aware of it. You were there on the day of the game of dice, and I know you warned the king against what he did. Good Sanjaya, a golden bowl does not change to a base metal because poison is poured into it.
“As for the message I send back through you: wish them all well in Hastinapura; greet the elders for me, and the others. Then tell Duryodhana I said to him, ‘Cousin, the only music in your heart is of your desires. Sometimes you must listen to other sweeter songs. We want peace with you, Duryodhana. You are a great king; give back what is mine, and be a greater king than ever. Either return Indraprastha, or fight me. I pray you will listen to reason, and there may be lasting peace between us.’
“Give this message to my cousin, Sanjaya.”
Arjuna did not like the softness of his brother’s message. He rose and said in anger, “Indraprastha is like a bondwoman to Duryodhana, while Yudhishtira is her true master. Tell Duryodhana to release our city and our kingdom, or he will face the Pandavas in battle. We have Krishna, Satyaki, Drupada, Drishtadyumna and Shikhandi with us. Duryodhana made my brother sleep on a rough bed for twelve years. In return, we will make him sleep forever on a bloody field. Yudhishtira has kept his anger to himself, these long, hard years. If he unleashes it, his rage will consume Duryodhana and his army as fire does a dry forest in summer.
“Yama wields a mace. Duryodhana will see Bheema wield his mace among the Kaurava host, and I swear my brother’s wrath shall not be less than Death’s. Let Duryodhana remember the other sons of Pandu. Let him think of Abhimanyu, who is Arjuna’s son and Krishna’s nephew. Let him think well how he will stop my boy on the field of war. Abhimanyu will blow like a tempest at the Kauravas!”
It was rare, indeed, for the quiet Arjuna to say so much. Obviously, he was moved and they all listened to him in silence, because he was eloquent today.
“Remind Duryodhana we have the indomitable Drupada and Virata with us. Surely, he has not forgotten Shikhandi and Dhrishtadyumna. Tell your king the fire-born Dhrishtadyumna shall be the Senapati of our legions. Tell Duryodhana again that Satyaki is with us. I am certain he has forgotten Satyaki’s valour, or he would not even dream of war.
“More than any of these, remind my foolish cousin that Krishna will be my sarathy. Tell him, Sanjaya, that the Pandavas plan a yagna. Krishna will be the priest for our sacrifice, the song of the Gandiva will be the sound of the Vedas, and the havis, the burnt offering, will be the Kaurava host. Take my message back to our cousin.”
Arjuna sat down, red-eyed, and Bheema, who stood some way off at the back of the court, cried, “Tell that fool what Arjuna says! Say Bheema says the same thing.”
When the sabha was quiet again, Yudhishtira said, “Sanjaya, you see how angry my brothers are. You must persuade Duryodhana to give me back my kingdom. I have no wish to be the occasion for this war. If everything else fails, I will accept just five towns to make peace. Let him give me Indraprastha, Vrikaprastha, Jayanta and Varanavrata. These hold memories for us. The fifth town, why, let it be a village, can be of his choice.”
Bheema and Arjuna exchanged a glance at this madness, and Krishna smiled. Yudhishtira went on, “This is my offer to show Duryodhana I do not want war. Let him give me these five towns, and I will be content. How can I want my cousins dead? No, I want peace.”
Sanjaya bowed. He left the court in Upaplavya with tears in his eyes, that Yudhishtira should suffer as he did. Anxiety went with that good messenger, as he rode back to Hastinapura.
SEVEN
A blind king’s terror
IT WAS LATE IN THE EVENING, WHEN SANJAYA ARRIVED BACK IN Dhritarashtra’s palace. He was deeply troubled, and decided to see the king straightaway. But he would deliver the message from Upaplavya only the next day, in court.
Sanjaya said to the guards, “I want to see the king if he is not asleep. Announce me to him.”
Dhritarashtra had been waiting for his messenger’s return. He took Sanjaya’s hand, and made him sit beside him. “What happened, Sanjaya? What did the Pandavas say?”
Sanjaya heaved a sigh. “Yudhishtira prostrates himself before you, and asks after your health.” Now he paused, as if hesitating to say what was on his mind.
“Is that all, Sanjaya? I can feel you have more to tell me.”
“How I hated being your messenger on this vile mission! I felt at peace in Upaplavya. I felt I was in a pure and unsullied land again. Hastinapura rots at its very soul, and though you are such an intelligent king, you choose to do nothing about it. I have known you for many years, my lord, and this is not the time for me to lie to you, or say only what you want to hear.
“How could you have been so cruel to your brother’s sons? And having been so cruel, how can you dream you will escape retribution? Have you lost your reason, Dhritarashtra? You stand at the edge of a precipice and insist you must walk forward, you and your arrogant son. Listen to me, my lord, this is your last chance to turn back from the chasm. Everything you have done so far is adharma. You abandoned wisdom, and encouraged your son to walk an evil path; and now you want to convince the Pandavas to give up the kingdom you yourself gave them. But Yudhishtira says you must return Indraprastha to him, or there will be war.”
Dhritarashtra released his messenger’s hand. Sanjaya said, “I have travelled a long way, and I am tired. I want to rest now. I will deliver Yudhishtira’s message in your sabha tomorrow.”
Without waiting for his king’s leave, Sanjaya rose and walked out. Dhritarashtra was left alone in the darkness. The blind king knew there would be no escape now. Slowly, he rose and crossed to his bed. He curled up on it, his arms raised above his head, as if to ward off the punishment that must fall on him. Sleep would not come to Dhritarashtra, only visions of nemesis. In terror, he called his guard.
“Send for Vidura, I must see him at once.”
Woken from sleep, Vidura came immediately. Dhritarashtra was shaking. The king clasped his brother’s hand tightly, and led him to a couch. He said in a voice full of fear, “Sanjaya has come back from Upaplavya. He spoke roughly to me, Vidura, and went away without giving me Yudhishtira’s message. But he said the Pandavas will have war with us if their kingdom is not returned. Sanjaya was harsher than I have ever known him to be.
“I cannot sleep Vidura. Stay with me, I am afraid. I have no one except you. You are the only one who loves me as I am, with all my faults. Help me sleep my brother. I must sleep, I must.”
Vidura withdrew his hand. He said, “I have heard there are five kinds of men who cannot sleep. A man who lusts after another man’s wife, a thief, a man who has lost his wealth, a failure, and a weak man threatened by a strong one. I hope you are none of these men, my lord. You are not a greedy man are you, Dhritarashtra?”
The king repeated dully, “Help me find sleep, Vidura, I must sleep.”
Vidura looked at his half-brother pityingly. “It is nothing new, my lord. You haven’t been able to sleep for years now. Why, you have not slept since the rishis of Satasringa brought Pandu’s sons to Hastinapura. Perhaps you could not sleep even before that, though you told no one of it. I remember the night Duryodhana was born. You called me and said, ‘I hear Pandu already has a son. Which of them shall sit on the throne, my boy or his?’
“No, Dhritarashtra, your insomnia and your jealousy are not new. Your heart is full of evil, and your nephews have suffered because of you. The root of the sin that will destroy your own sons lies in you. There is no escaping that. You tell me you cannot sleep; how can someone like you sleep? Yudhishtira loved and honoured you. He obeyed you as if you were his father, and you repaid his love with treachery. And now, you want me to tell you how you can sleep.”
Vidura paused. He rose and paced the room while his brother followed his movements with his unseeing face. Taking his time, Vidura came back and said more softly than ever, “Do you want to sleep, my lord? I will tell you the only way you can sleep.”
The king grasped his brother’s hand again. He whispered, “Tell me, Vidura! You still love me.”
“If only you were a wise king, and a master of your greed, my lord! You would know yourself what you should do, just as you would have known what you should not do. Do you want to sleep my brother? Give Yudhishtira’s kingdom back to him, and you will sleep like a baby.”
Dhritarashtra stiffened, he let go Vidura’s hand. His face worked in anguish, then, he said, “Vidura, tell me about a wise man and a foolish one. What are their qualities?”
Vidura sighed. This was an old ploy of his brother’s: to skirt round and round an issue, never facing it. Vidura said, “A wise man aspires not for riches or kingdom, but the higher things of life, for the evolution and salvation of his soul. He knows himself. His virtue is steady; he is diligent and hard working, patient and understanding. Not anger, joy, pride or grief can distract him from his purpose. He acts, and always thinks he serves not merely this world, but the next one as well. Desire does not taint what he does. Honest deeds delight him, and he is indifferent to slight or acclaim. He is as serene as a lake along the Ganga.”
Vidura waited, and Dhritarashtra whispered, “And the fool?”
“The scriptures are a book he never opens. He is vain, thinking himself the wisest of all, when truly he knows little. The fool must have what he wants, and does not hesitate to use evil means to acquire it, though they destroy him. He is envious and covetous.”
