Jaya: An Illustrated Retelling of the Mahabharata

by Devdutt Pattanaik

  Sure enough, an iron mace ripped itself out of Samba’s thigh. A terrified Samba pounded it to dust which he then cast into the sea. The sea rejected this iron dust and tossed it back to the shores of Prabhasa, where it turned into the deadly reeds that the Yadavas plucked to strike each other with.

  In a few hours, struck by the deadly blades of grass, the bodies of hundreds of slain Yadavas, young and old included, covered the shores of Prabhasa. It was impossible to distinguish who sided with the Pandavas and who with the Kauravas. Satyaki was dead. Kritavarma was dead. It was like another Kuru-kshetra. Krishna and Balarama could do nothing to save them.

  Thus did Gandhari’s curse fulfil itself.

  Krishna’s son, Samba, is portrayed in the scriptures as an irresponsible lout, perhaps to inform us that the child of a great man need not be a great man; greatness is not transmitted through the generations. Every man ultimately makes or destroys his own legacy.

  A game of dice leads to the carnage at Kuru-kshetra. An argument leads to the carnage at Prabhasa. Ultimately, all wars can be traced to the simplest of quarrels where man is eager to overpower rather than indulge the other.

  Krishna’s family does not escape Gandhari’s curse. Thus even God surrenders to the law of karma. By making man the master of his own destiny and the creator of his own desires, God makes man ultimately responsible for the life he leads and the choices he makes. God does not interfere with fate; he simply helps man cope with it.

  105

  Death of Krishna

  Watching the destruction of his family, a distraught Balarama lost all interest in life. He let his life breath slip out of his mortal body in the form of a serpent.

  With Balarama gone, Krishna realized it was time to end his mortal life. He sat under a Banyan tree, crossed his left foot over his right leg and started shaking it as he reminisced about his life: his journey from Vrindavan through Mathura and Dwaraka to Hastina-puri and finally Kuru-kshetra.

  As he was doing so, the sole of his left foot was struck by a poisoned arrow shot by a hunter who, seeing it through a thicket, mistook it to be the ear of a deer.

  The arrowhead was the only piece of the iron mace that Samba had been unable to pound into dust. The hunter had found it in the belly of a fish. The poison took effect and soon, even Krishna’s life breath slipped away.

  While all the Yadavas crossed the Vaitarni and entered the land of the dead awaiting rebirth, Krishna returned to the heaven known as Vaikuntha, located even above Swarga, and took his place as Vishnu, God who sustains the universe. Balarama was already there as the thousand-hooded serpent of time, Adi-Ananta-Sesha, ready to receive him in his great coils.

  In the cyclical Hindu world, all that is born must die. Even Krishna must experience death since he experienced birth. But Krishna’s death is not a normal death; he returns to his heavenly abode, Vaikuntha, after shedding the mortal flesh he acquired at the time of his birth. Such is not the case with other creatures. After death, they move into another life and forget their past life. This is because during their time in the world, they are involved in various activities that generate karma; they are obliged to experience the reaction of their actions in one life time or another. Krishna, being God, does not perform actions that generate karma; his actions are neither paap nor punya. They generate neither demerit nor merit. His actions, full of awareness and detachment, are part of leela, the divine performance.

  According to one folk tale from North India, in his previous descent as Ram, God had shot a monkey called Vali in the back while he was busy engaged in a duel. Vali protested against this unfair action and so God caused him to be reborn as Jara and allowed him to strike him dead when he descended as Krishna.

  In Prabhas Patan, on the sea coast of the state of Gujarat, stands a tree that has been identified as the descendant of the Banyan tree under which Krishna was fatally injured.

  The Banyan tree is a sacred tree for Hindus because of its long life which has made it a symbol of immortality.

  106

  Fall of Dwaraka

  No sooner did Krishna’s father, Vasudeva, hear of the calamity at Prabhasa than he died of a broken heart. Soon, a vast field of funeral pyres lined the shores of the sea. The Yadava women let out a wail as they mourned their dead. The sound of their mourning reached the heavens and even made the Devas cry.

  Some women leapt into the funeral pyres, unable to bear the thought of living without their husbands. Others lost all interest in worldly life and retired into the forest to live as mendicants. Those who still clung to life turned to Arjuna who had rushed from Hastina-puri on hearing of the great civil war in Dwaraka. But he came too late; there was hardly anything left of the Yadava clan to save.

  Then the sea rose and lashed against the walls of Dwaraka. It started to pour and rainwater flooded the streets of the island city dissolving its very foundations. Before long, the walls started to crumble. The widows and orphans had to scramble out and make their way to the mainland on rafts and boats.

  Arjuna decided to take the few survivors with him to Hastina-puri.

  But the misfortunes continued. On the way, they were attacked by barbarians who abducted many of the women and children. Arjuna raised his Gandiva and tried to protect them but he was outnumbered. The great Gandiva which could destroy hundreds of warriors with a single arrow now seemed powerless. Arjuna realized that he was no more the archer he used to be. His purpose on earth and that of the Gandiva had been served.

  Overwhelmed by his helplessness before the rising tide of fate, humbled before the raging storm of circumstances, Arjuna fell to his knees and began to cry uncontrollably.

  When the tears dried up, it dawned on him that Gandhari’s curse, which had destroyed Dwaraka and its people, had its roots in the war at Kuru-kshetra. And that war would not have happened if they had simply restrained themselves and not wagered their kingdom in a game of dice. Arjuna realized, that in a way, he was responsible for the fall of Dwaraka. This was the great web of karma that connects all creatures in a single fabric. He begged for forgiveness for his part in the sorrows of all mankind.

  In response, the clouds began to rumble and in a flash of lightning Arjuna saw a vision: a gurgling, happy child sucking its butter-smeared big toe as it lay on a Banyan leaf cradled by the deadly waves that were destroying Dwaraka. In the midst of destruction, this was a symbol of renewal and hope.

  Arjuna finally understood the message given to him by God. Life would continue, with joys and sorrows, triumphs and tragedies rising and falling like the waves of the sea. It was up to him to respond wisely, enjoy simple pleasures unshaken by the inevitable endless turmoil of the world.

  He took the surviving Yadavas and gave them a home in Mathura, where in due course, Vajranabhi, son of Aniruddha, grandson of Pradyumna, great grandson of Krishna, would rise as a great king.

  Archaeologists have found traces of an ancient port city in the coast near modern Dwaraka dated to 1500 BCE, the time when a great city-based civilization thrived on the banks of the Indus across what is today Punjab, Sindh, Rajasthan and Gujarat. It is a matter of speculation if the characters of the Mahabharata inhabited these vast brick cities.

  Vajranabhi asked artisans to carve images of Krishna based on descriptions given by Abhimanyu’s wife, Uttari. But the description was so grand that each artisan could capture only part of the beauty in each image. These images were lost to the world for centuries and later discovered by holy men who enshrined them in temples. The image of Srinathji at Nathdvara is said to be one such image.

  107

  Renunciation of the Pandavas

  It was finally time for the Pandavas to retire. Parikshit, born after the bloodbath of Kuru-kshetra, was now old enough to rule Hastina-puri. The forest beckoned Yudhishtira. ‘Let the younger generation enjoy life while we try and make sense of ours,’ he said.

  Crowning Parikshit as king, and distributing all their cows, horses, vessels, jewels and clothes among their subjects,
the Pandavas left Hastina-puri dressed in clothes of bark.

  They walked north towards the great snow-clad mountain whose peak touches Swarga. ‘Let us climb Mandara,’ said Yudhishtira. ‘If we have truly upheld dharma in our lives, then our bodies will not die. We will enter the realm of the gods with this flesh.’ His brothers agreed. Even Draupadi followed. So began the long and arduous journey of five old men and one old woman on a path that was narrow and steep to the realm of the virtuous high above the sky.

  Suddenly, Draupadi slipped and fell. She cried out but no one turned around to save her. Then Sahadeva slipped and fell. No one turned around to help him either. Then Nakula slipped and fell. Then Arjuna. And finally Bhima. Yudhishtira stood his ground, and continued walking up the path.

  Yudhishtira had refused to turn and help anyone. ‘I have renounced everything,’ he told himself, ‘Even relationships.’ He surmised that they had died because Yama did not find them worthy enough to enter Swarga with their mortal bodies. Each one of them had a flaw: though she was supposed to love all her five husbands equally, Draupadi preferred Arjuna, desired Karna, and manipulated Bhima; Sahadeva’s knowledge had made him smug; Nakula’s beauty had made him insensitive; Arjuna had been envious of all other archers in the world; and all his life Bhima had been a glutton, eating without bothering to serve others.

  At long last, Yudhishtira reached the peak of Mandara. He found himself before the gate of that garden of unending delights known as Amravati.

  ‘Come inside,’ said the Devas spreading out their arms. ‘But keep that dog out.’

  ‘Dog?’ asked Yudhishtira, sounding surprised. He turned around and found a dog behind him, wagging his tail. Yudhishtira recognized it from the streets of Hastina-puri. It had followed him all the way, surviving the cold and the perilous journey.

  ‘Dogs are inauspicious. They wander in crematoriums and eat garbage. They are not welcome in Swarga.’

  The dog looked at Yudhishtira with adoration and licked his hand. Yudhishtira’s heart melted. ‘I have given up everything, but this dog has not given up on me. He has survived this journey with me. Surely, he too has earned the right to paradise, as I have. You must let him in,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said the Devas.

  ‘That is unfair. Why should he be kept out and I taken in? We both have equal merits. I will enter Swarga with him or not at all.’

  ‘You refuse paradise for the sake of a dog!’ exclaimed the Devas.

  ‘I refuse paradise for the sake of justice,’ said Yudhishtira, firm in his resolve.

  The Devas smiled. ‘Once again Yudhishtira you display your integrity. This dog behind you is none other than Dharma, god of righteous conduct. He has followed you and you have not abandoned him. That is why only you have earned the right to enter heaven with your mortal body.’

  Yudhishtira was ushered in to the sound of conch-shells. Apsaras showered him with flowers. Gandharvas sang songs to his glory.

  Parikshit has Naga blood in his veins since his grandmother Subhadra is a Yadava. Thus Janamejaya is related to the Nagas.

  Parikshit is the grandson of Subhadra. He thus has the blood of Yadu. Thus, at the end of the epic, rulers of the city of Hastina-puri are not descendants of Puru but descendants of Yadu, long ago denied the throne of Yayati.

  Vyasa says all creatures kill themselves eventually because of merits lost and demerits earned. By logic therefore, one who earns no demerit cannot die. Such a person can potentially rise up to paradise without dying. In other words, he becomes immortal. That is the ultimate aim of all spiritual practice. That is the aim of Yudhishtira.

  Dogs are considered inauspicious in Hinduism as they are associated with Yama, the god of death, and Bhairava, the fearsome killer form of Shiva. Dogs represent attachment and bondage because they are territorial and possessive of their masters. They constantly seek attention and validation. They therefore become the symbol of neediness, insecurity, attachment and ego, contrasted against the cow which is the symbol of the serene soul.

  108

  Kauravas in Swarga

  As soon as Yudhishtira stepped into heaven, he saw the hundred Kauravas, Duryodhana and Dusshasana included, standing beside the Devas looking radiant and blissful. They too spread out their arms to welcome Yudhishtira. Yudhishtira recoiled in disgust. ‘How did these warmongers reach Amravati?’ he asked angrily.

  The Devas replied, ‘They were killed on the holy land of Kuru-kshetra. That has purified them of all misdeeds and earned them the right to enter Amravati. Surely, if heaven is good enough for your dog, it is good enough for your cousins.’

  The explanation did not satisfy Yudhishtira. ‘And my brothers? And my wife? What about them? Where are they? Are they here too?’ he asked.

  ‘They are not here,’ replied the Devas placidly, refusing to pay any attention to Yudhishtira’s rising rage.

  ‘Where are they?’ Yudhishtira demanded.

  ‘In another place,’ said the Devas, taking no notice of Yudhishtira’s impatience.

  ‘Take me to them,’ said Yudhishtira, determined to get to the bottom of this.

  ‘Certainly,’ said the Devas who led Yudhishtira out of Swarga, down from the sky, along the slopes of Mandara, through a crevice deep under the earth to a realm that was dark and gloomy and miserable. There, Yudhishtira heard cries of pain and suffering. It was everything Amravati was not. He realized it was Naraka, the realm of misery.

  ‘My brothers are here?’ cried Yudhishtira in disbelief.

  In response, he heard the moans of his brothers, including Karna. ‘Yes, we are here,’ they said in unison.

  Bhima, Yudhishtira knew, was paying for his gluttony, Arjuna for his envy, Nakula for his insensitivity, Sahadeva for his smugness and Draupadi for her partiality. But Karna? Why him? Had his elder brother not suffered enough in life? ‘Karna promised Kunti to spare four of her five sons despite knowing that Duryodhana relied on him to kill all five Pandavas. He is paying for breaking his friend’s trust,’ clarified the Devas rather matter-of-factly. Yudhishtira felt everyone’s pain and started to weep. ‘Shall we go back to Amravati now?’ asked the Devas.

  ‘No, no. Please don’t go,’ Yudhishtira heard his brothers cry. ‘Your presence comforts us.’

  ‘Well? Shall we leave?’ asked the Devas impatiently.

  ‘Please stay,’ Yudhishtira heard Draupadi plead. She sounded so lost and tired and anxious and afraid.

  Yudhishtira could not bring himself to move. Tears welled up in his eyes. How could he return to Swarga and leave his family here? He took a decision. ‘No. I will not leave Naraka. I will stay here with my wife and my brothers. I will suffer with them. I refuse to enter Amravati without them.’

  The Devas laughed. Rising up in the air, glowing like fire flies, they said, ‘Oh, but we thought you had renounced everything?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Yudhishtira, suddenly uncomfortable.

  ‘Did you not renounce all worldly ties when you entered Swarga? Wherefrom, then, comes this attachment? You are as attached to your hatred as a dog is attached to its master.’

  Yudhishtira argued, ‘How can Amravati open its gates to the Kauravas, those murderers, and not to my family which has always followed the path of righteous conduct? Even Krishna fought against the Kauravas!’

  ‘Do you feel we are taking sides, Yudhishtira?’ asked the Devas.

  ‘Yes,’ snapped Yudhishtira, looking at the dark misery all around him. Surely, his family who had established dharma on earth did not deserve this. This was so unfair.

  ‘You have given up your kingdom and your clothes, son of Dharma, but not your hatred. You killed the Kauravas in Kuru-kshetra and ruled their kingdom for thirty-six years! Still you have not forgiven them. You, who turned your back on your brothers on your way to Amravati, recalled them the instant you saw the Kauravas in heaven. This display of love is nothing but a reaction, retaliation. You cling to your anger, Yudhishtira. You still distinguish between friend and foe.
You refuse to let go and move on. How then do you hope to truly attain heaven?’

  Suddenly, a vision unfolded before Yudhishtira. The Virat-swarup of Krishna. ‘Behold within God,’ a voice boomed, ‘all that exists. Everything. Everyone. Draupadi and Gandhari. The Pandavas and the Kauravas. All possibilities. The killers and the killed.’

  At that moment, Yudhishtira realized he was not the great man who he thought he was. He had not really overcome his prejudices. Only when there is undiluted compassion for everyone, even our worst enemies, is ego truly conquered. Realization humbled Yudhishtira. He fell to the ground and began to weep.

  Led by the Devas, Yudhishtira then took a dip in the Ganga and rose enlightened, purified, refreshed and truly liberated, with the sincere desire to forgive and accept the Kauravas. There was no more hatred. No more ‘them’ and ‘us’. No more ‘better’ and ‘worse’. There was only love. Everyone was one.

  ‘Jaya!’ shouted Indra. ‘Jaya!’ shouted the Devas. ‘Jaya!’ shouted the Rishis. For Yudhishtira had won the ultimate victory, victory over himself. Now he would ascend to a heaven higher than Swarga. Now he would ascend to Vaikuntha, the abode of God.

  The epic ends not with the victory of the Pandavas over the Kauravas but with Yudhishtira’s triumph over himself. This is spiritual victory or Jaya. This is the ultimate aim of the great epic.

  The phrase ‘Jaya ho’ is a greeting and the phrase ‘Jaya he’ is part of the Indian national anthem.

  Merit can be earned in many ways. It can be earned through acts of charity, by performing religious rituals, by bathing in holy rivers or by dying in holy places. One such holy place which purged all demerit and provided merit was Kuru-kshetra. Another one is Kashi, on the banks of the river Ganga, which is why people still go to Kashi to die.