MAHABHARATA SERIES BOOK#2: The Seeds of War (Mba)

by Ashok K. Banker

  He sighed and looked down at his large broad palms. ‘This is true. It concerns me as well, mother.’

  ‘Then do something about it.’

  He looked up at her. ‘What would you have me do?’

  ‘Vichitravirya’s wives.’

  ‘Ambika and Ambalika? Yes, what of them?’

  ‘Claim your right as a son of Shantanu and as half-brother to Vichitravirya. After the untimely death of a brother, if his wife remains childless, you are entitled to seed her in order to birth an heir. Take my daughters in law as your wives legally if you wish. You are no less than my son. Take them with my blessings and sire heirs upon them.’ She added after a moment, ‘They will not object either. I know this well. They look up to you as a god ever since the day you brought them here. Marry your brother’s wives and sire children, Devavrata. It is the right thing to do.’

  He sighed again as if he had been expecting something along these lines. ‘I cannot. You know this too.’

  ‘Because of your oath of brahmacharya?’

  He looked at her again. ‘Yes. Of course. Because of the oath.’

  ‘That oath has no meaning anymore! My father only asked that my sons inherit the throne. My sons are both dead! Their inheritance is in danger of being squandered forever! What do you think will happen once you pass on? Hastinapura will be stormed within the day, the Puru empire will be dismantled, and each piece will become a trophy for our rivals and enemies. The Puru line will become extinct in every sense of the word and your father’s and forefather’s efforts will all be in vain. Would you let their legacy be lost so cheaply? Would you stand by and do nothing in this hour of need? You took that oath in order to ensure your father found happiness once more in life, bereft and desolate as he was after losing your mother. How do you think your father would feel today if he were to see this state of affairs? Would he smile and give you his blessing to remain celibate or would he try to reason with you, make you give up your vow of brahmacharya and do what is right under dharma.’

  ‘What is right under dharma,’ he replied, rising from his seat and pacing across the chamber, ‘is that a Puru always abides by his vows. That is immutable.’

  ‘Circumstances change,’ she said, ‘and we must change with them. In season, flowers bloom and give out sweet fragrances and out of season, they wither and lose their aroma. Water changes colour under different lights. Light itself changes colour and appearance under different conditions. The great force of fire alters its form and appearance constantly. Everything changes when it must. That is part of nature. Dharma is knowing what is natural and what is right for a certain person in a certain time and situation. Your dharma itself has changed now, Devavrata! Rescind your vow, take back your terrible pledge, give up your state of celibacy, do what you must for the good of this House of Puru. Only you can do so!’

  Bhishma stopped pacing and stood with his back to her, gazing out a casement high on the western wall through which the setting sun was visible. ‘Flowers may lose their fragrance forever, light may lose its lustre, water lose its form, fire fail to provide heat, the sun can cease its radiance, the moon can turn dark and sink forever, the god of dharma himself may turn to a path of adharma, the slayer of Vritra, Indra himself, lose his sense of valour, but I can never give up my vow. You know this in your heart to be so. Accept it, mother. There is nothing to be gained by pursuing this line of argument.’

  She passed a hand across her face, her brow creasing with anxiety. ‘Then I am lost, my son. I know not what else to suggest. What can we do? How are we to resolve this problem? You know that this is nothing less than a calamity. Every day we do nothing about it, our rivals and enemies watch and plot against us, knowing that it is only a matter of time before the House of Puru ends forever. Already they build their alliances and lay their plots to overtake us when the time comes. Only by taking decisive action can we stop this plotting and planning and restore our supreme authority. Tell me what has to be done. I suggested the only solution that seems possible. If you will not accept it, then you must offer a solution of your own.’

  Bhishma turned from the casement to look at her. With the setting sun behind him, he appeared like a god with a corona of light around his head and beard. ‘I have a solution,’ he said. ‘One that is acceptable under dharma and will violate no vows or laws.’

  She stared at him, hope flowering in her heart. Bhishma would not say such a thing lightly. If he had a solution, one that pleased him, then it would most certainly please her as well. ‘Tell me,’ she said eagerly. ‘What is the solution you propose?’

  He shook his head. ‘It is not my solution. It is an ancient time-honoured tradition of our culture. It dates back to the time when Rama, son of Jamadagni, better known as Parasurama, destroyed the kshatriyas of the world. The wives of the kshatriyas were bereft and childless. They beseeched the brahmins to unite with them in order that they might produce offspring and further their line. Thus was the line of kshatriyas re-established on earth.’ He looked at his step-mother. ‘An heir can be produced by either the father or the mother. Were Vichitravirya to father a son on either of his wives, the son would be accepted as his rightful heir. Similarly, in Vichitravirya’s absence, either of the wives may invite a suitable brahmin to her bed and engender a son. The child would legally be considered a Puru and a legitimate heir to the throne.’

  Satyavati nodded slowly. ‘I have heard of this before. It is not common among my father’s people but I have heard that it is a common custom among royals.’

  ‘It is,’ Bhishma said confidently. ‘I have consulted with all our preceptors and they confirm it as being a legitimate and acceptable way for the House of Puru to further its lineage.’

  Satyavati rose and took a few steps away, thinking as she paced. ‘Then all we need is to find a brahmin who would cohabit with Ambika and Ambalika. He need not even marry them, merely cohabit with them and then depart once his task is completed?’

  ‘That is preferable. To all appearances, it will be as if the gods themselves have blessed the queens with progeny. As indeed they have, since brahmins are the varna closest to the devas on earth.’

  Satyavati thought deeply and did not say anything further. After observing her silence for a while, Bhishma asked her gently, ‘Mother, is something the matter? Have I said something to offend you? Did this solution not please you somehow?’

  She looked up at him as if startled out of a reverie. ‘No, my son! You could never say anything to offend or displease me. You are the epitome of goodness in every respect. I was thinking about the brahmin who would be suitable enough for this task.’

  ‘Yes?’ he asked, not sure what she meant. ‘There are many suitable candidates. I have already asked the preceptors to suggest the most appropriate ones for our perusal. Once we decide, we shall summon the one we have chosen and—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she said. ‘I understand. But what if I told you there might be a way to achieve both things at once.’

  ‘Both things?’ Bhishma was puzzled. ‘I fail to follow your meaning, mother.’

  ‘The ideal situation of asking a Puru himself to further the Puru dynasty legitimately, and resorting to the time-honoured tradition of asking a brahmin to sire a child upon a widowed wife.’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘That is what we are discussing. Since the first option is not possible, we are considering the second…’

  ‘Yes, but what if I told you there may be a way to do both. By calling upon a Puru of the same bloodline as us who also happens to be a brahmin possessed of all the auspicious qualities one would seek.’

  Bhishma stared at her. ‘How is that possible? There are no Puru brahmins! I am the sole Puru male and I am a kshatriya.’

  She paced a few times, revealing her anxiety. ‘Son, what I am about to tell you is a secret I was forced to keep from your father as well. I regret keeping such a secret but I had no choice at the time. I feared that it might deplete his store of happiness and make him sorrow
ful. He already had so much sadness in his life, I had no desire to risk endangering the joyful companionship we enjoyed together. I thought in time I would tell him…But then we ran out of time.’

  He frowned, sensing that she needed something from him…acceptance? Understanding? Forgiveness? A combination of all the above, perhaps? ‘I understand…And I do not mind. My father is no more. You need have no regrets and feel no guilt at keeping this secret. Whatever it is, I will not judge you for it nor blame you. It is not a son’s place to do so anyway.’

  She sighed deeply as if achieving some great release. ‘Thank you, my son. In that case, I shall tell you my secret. I have a son by a previous union.’

  He looked at her, unsure how to react. He decided to say nothing.

  She went on. ‘It was no mere dalliance, I assure you. The great sage Parashara was a passenger on my boat and he grew amorous and was overcome with a powerful lust for me…’

  She told him the story of her first relationship and of the birth of her son.

  ‘Krishna Dweipayana,’ Bhishma repeated the name slowly. ‘Better known as Vyasa for his brilliant work collating and re-organizing the Vedas. Of course I have heard of him. He is a great mind and a renowned scholar of the Vedas. They say his gift for poetry and composition is unparalleled. I have long sought to engage him as a court poet but he is dedicated to pursuing his own course and seeks no patrons. The world eagerly awaits his division of the body of Vedic lore into three or four parts once he is done. They say his system of rearrangement is most inspired and ingenious.’

  She was pleased to hear such high praises for her son from the lips of Bhishma. ‘He is my son,’ she said proudly. ‘Although I have not seen him even once since I gave birth to him, he gave me the power to summon him at will at any time. I have but to think of him and he shall arrive here instantly.’

  Bhishma mused on this extraordinary revelation. ‘He is most appropriate. It would be our great fortune for the House of Puru to have a brahmin of his stature and immense qualities further our line. And since he is your son, and you are Shantanu’s widow, therefore he is my brother, and the brother of Chitrangada and Vichitravirya as well. Therefore, since Vichitravirya is dead, he may legitimately cohabit with his brother’s wives and produce offspring. Even if he were not a brahmin…’

  ‘But he is,’ Satyavati exclaimed. ‘And being a brahmin, he is celibate! Hence there is no fear that he will engender other progeny who might lay claim to the throne of Hastinapura either. This shall be the sole exception and only on my request.’

  Bhishma rubbed his beard briskly as he did at times when arriving at a solution to some long-frustrating dilemma. ‘It is an excellent solution, mother! You must summon your son Vyasa at once. I can find no fault with this plan.’ He frowned, as if remembering something, then added, ‘except that I must offer one caution…’

  ‘What, my son?’

  ‘There is one risk involved with asking brahmins to produce progeny. It is also part of the record of itihasa. Brahmins are notorious for being easily offended and for cursing or inflicting conditions upon those who offend them. We must take great care that this does not happen.’ He added quickly, ‘This has nothing to do with our calling your son to do the task. It applies to any brahmin.’

  She nodded, understanding. ‘Tell me, what is it?’

  3

  In ancient times, Bhishma said to Satyavati, there was a great sage named Utathya. He had a wife named Mamata and they loved each other deeply. Now, Utathya’s younger brother was the sage Brihaspati, who is known to us as the famous guru to the devas, preceptor of the gods. Brihaspati coveted his brother’s wife and was filled with desire for her. He wooed her with great eloquence and passion. But she spurned his advances saying that she was already pregnant with his brother’s child. Undaunted, Brihaspati made love to her and spilt his semen inside her. Utathya’s child, though still an infant in the womb, had already mastered the Vedas and Vedangas. When his uncle’s semen attempted to enter his mother’s womb, he complained aloud, saying ‘There is no room for your seed here, I was here first. You have unnecessarily wasted your seed.’ He spoke at the exact moment of climax, spoiling Brihaspati’s pleasure.

  Brihaspati was angered by this reply. ‘Little one, because you spoke at an inappropriate moment and ruined my pleasure, therefore I curse you to be blind.’

  Thereafter, Utathya and Mamata’s son was born blind. He grew up to the Rishi Dirghatama. In time, he fathered many illustrious sons of his own, starting with the famous Gautama.

  But in time, Gautama and his other sons grew greedy and avaricious. They felt their father was a burden and sought to be rid of the responsibility of caring for him. Deluded by maya, they sought to commit the terrible crime of patricide. Binding their blind father to a log of wood they threw him into the rivers of the Ganga, leaving the rushing waters to do the rest. But Rishi Dirghatama did not drown and die as they expected. He floated down the length of the mighty river, passing many kingdoms and surviving even in that condition. While he was floating by, he was seen by a king named Bali, who was a great follower of dharma. Bali was troubled because his wife was unable to bear sons and his line was at risk of ending. When he saw the blind sage tied to the timber, he felt as if the gods themselves had offered him a solution. For he recognized Dirghatama from a previous encounter and had great reverence for the rishi. Wading out into the river, he risked his life to save the floating sage. Untying him and bringing him to solid land, he beseeched him, ‘Great one, surely you have been sent to eliminate my anxiety. Grant me the blessing of fathering sons who are knowledgeable in dharma and artha.’ Rishi Dirghatama was happy at being saved and readily agreed.

  But when King Bali told his wife Sudeshna his intentions, she was repulsed. Rishi Dirghatama was old, blind and cantankerous. She had no desire to cohabit with him, however urgent the need for heirs. She sent her daiimaa, a Sudra, instead. Rishi Dirghatama blessed the daiimaa with his seed time and again, fathering eleven sons upon her over time. The eldest of these sons was named Kakshivat and he was a handsome boy with many fine qualities. Seeing him, King Bali assumed he was the son of his wife Sudeshna. ‘No,’ said Dirghatama to the King’s surprise. ‘Your queen refused me and sent me her wet nurse instead. It is by that Sudra daiimaa that I have fathered these eleven sons.’ It was evident from Dirghatama’s tone and manner that he was deeply offended by the queen’s refusal and resented her greatly.

  Bali pacified the rishi’s anger and persuaded him to give the queen one more chance. This time, he personally ensured that Sudeshna went to the rishi. The blind sage felt the queen’s limbs carefully, pressing them hard enough to draw tears from her eyes. But she had been warned by her husband not to object to anything the sage said or did and kept her silence. Pleased by her silent acceptance, the rishi said, ‘You will have a great and powerful son, who will always be truthful.’ Thus was born the rajarshi Anga from Sudeshna.

  4

  Bhishma finished his recounting and cautioned Satyavati, ‘Therefore you must ensure that the queens Ambika and Ambalika are well prepared and wholly willing to accept the procreator who comes to them. They must not offend him in any way, or he may well curse or inflict some condition upon their progeny.’

  Satyavati understood. ‘I shall see to it.’

  She then left Bhishma’s chambers and secluded herself in her own palace. Meditating, she thought of the day she had cohabited with Parashara and in a rush, the memories coalesced into actual events. She experienced every detail of that day all over again, the fog that enshrouded them during their act of coition, the departure of the sage, her rowing back to the island, her giving birth to an infant who grew from a babe to a full-grown adult male within the space of an hour, the tall, dark, fierce and proud Krishna standing before her and joining his palms in greeting to his mother. She recalled his last words to her: ‘Maatr, at any time if you have need of me, you need but think of me and I shall arrive before you instantly. Whatever the purp
ose, do not hesitate to call on me.’ She recalled her thinking at the time that this extraordinary message indicated her own conviction that their bond was an unusual one that would serve some greater purpose in time. And she knew now that this was that purpose, the reason for which she now wished to summon him.

  As she thought these things, she saw an image of Krishna himself. He was seated on a cloth beneath a banyan tree in his ashram, reading a scroll and thinking deeply. She knew that he was reading through the Vedas and separating individual shlokas and rcaas into separate volumes and sections. She hesitated to interrupt his brilliant work.

  But Krishna himself sensed her presence and opened his eyes. Even across the physical distance that separated them he was able to see her as clearly as if he sat only yards away in the same chamber.

  ‘Maatr, do you have need of my services?’

  ‘Yes, my son, I do,’ she heard herself reply. Her voice sounded strange for though she spoke here in her chamber in the palace, yet her words resounded in that distant forest ashram where Krishna sat.

  Krishna smiled and rose to his feet. With a single step he covered the distance from his ashram in the forest into her chamber.

  Satyavati opened her eyes.

  There, before her, stood her son, much as the he had appeared the day he was born. Tall, black of complexion as she herself, fierce of visage, and with the knobbly bony limbs of an austere penitent who devoted his days to meditation and self-deprivation.

  His palms were joined in respectful greeting. He touched her feet and took her blessings. ‘Maatr, command me. How may I serve you?’