Arjuna

by Anuja Chandramouli

  On reaching the banks of the sacred river, the royal procession waded into the waters and allowed the sanctifying waters to cleanse and carry away the ashes of the dead. Ritual donations of gold and fine cloths were made and oblations for the souls of the deceased were offered. The Pandavas stood together and chanted the Vedic hymns for satiation of all they had lost. As this mournful session slowly wound to a close, Kunti spoke in a voice that could barely be heard. ‘Wait! There is one more person for whom you must offer prayers! You cannot forget him!’

  The brothers looked at her in silence. To the best of their knowledge, they had certainly not forgotten anyone. ‘Mother, I think I have offered oblations for every single person who gave his life for me on the battlefield. Who have I have left out?’ Yudhishthira asked her gently.

  Kunti drew in a shaky breath and revealed her terrible secret in a torrential outpouring. ‘There is one who deserves your prayers more than anyone else who has left us. He was a lion among men and famous for his courage, kindness, generosity and loyalty. Some say he was the mightiest warrior this earth has seen. This giant among men was the only one who had the valour and fortitude to oppose Arjuna in battle. He was none other than Karna, who was born to me of Surya, when I was still a maiden and unwed. I abandoned my baby to save my reputation and that of the proud family I was wed into. The child was found by Adhiratha, the good charioteer, and his wife, Radha. This boy grew up to be Karna, the self-made Kshatriya exemplar. A nobler soul or a truer, braver man, this world has yet to see. He was my firstborn, and I am proud to have borne him. Honour your brother and love him in death, even if you could not while he lived!’

  The brothers stared at her – struck dumb by shock so great that it was quite some time before they could recover their faculties of speech. The pure-hearted Yudhishthira took the news the hardest as the realization dawned on him that he was guilty of the sin of fratricide. He looked at Kunti beseechingly, praying that it was all a monstrous lie and asked one question: ‘Did you tell him the truth?’

  It was Krishna who replied. ‘Karna knew before the battle started that you were his real brothers. Kunti, Surya, and I, all spoke to him and revealed the secret of his birth. But he could not and would not abandon his friend Duryodhana, whom he had pledged to support. He made the decision to fight against you. But he promised Kunti that he would not hurt Yudhishthira, Bheema, Nakula and Sahadeva, though he would try to kill Arjuna, as his service to Duryodhana. He knew he had chosen death but refused to baulk, and it was his wish that the truth not be known to you. Yudhishthira would have offered him the throne and Karna would have given it to Duryodhana. In the end he did the right thing for the glorious hero that he was born to be.’

  This was too much for Yudhishthira, who waded into the waters of the river with the air of a man hoping it would swallow him up. He cried long and hard even as he said the prayers for the brother he had never really known. He thought of how Karna had spared Bheema, Nakula, Sahadeva, and himself, though he could have killed them all; of how he had once been struck by the resemblance of Karna’s feet to his mother’s, on the day of Draupadi’s humiliation. And he wept.

  Arjuna stood by, watching him, too drained for tears. His mind refused to accept that Karna was his eldest brother. They had hated each other with a passion and been sworn enemies from the start. He remembered how Karna had singled him out as an adversary during the tournament and humiliated him. The insults they had traded and the million, hateful things they had done to each other, swirled around in his head and he felt sick with a mixed emotion he knew not what to name. Was it remorse? Karna was his brother; and he had known the truth! Arjuna was suddenly furious at the dead man.

  Karna had known the truth before the battle and had sworn to leave the brothers unharmed, with the exception of Arjuna himself. Krishna said that Karna had known death was coming and was willing to embrace it. Could that be the reason Karna had had a hand in killing Abhimanyu? Did his fore-knowledge of his death at the hands of the third Pandava lead him to avenge himself beforehand, by taking something that was more precious to Arjuna than life itself? At that moment, Arjuna was almost glad that Karna had lost his birthright and suffered the way he had. Besides, no real brother would have treated Draupadi the way Karna had, he reasoned to himself.

  Sensing the direction of his thoughts, Krishna drew Arjuna aside. ‘Don’t hate him Arjuna, he does not deserve it. He was a noble, if woefully misguided, soul. It was true that he was jealous of you, but that is not surprising because he always felt that you had stolen something from him. As it turned out, he was justified in feeling that way, even if you were not to blame in any way. By throwing in his lot with Duryodhana, he did some shameful things, such as that incident with Draupadi, but he himself told me that he regretted the whole miserable affair deeply. You see, he fell in love with her and when he was on the verge of winning her hand, she rejected him on account of his lowly birth and then chose you.

  It is natural for you to hold him to blame for his part in Abhimanyu’s death, but you are judging him harshly. In the heat of battle people do terrible things. You know that, for you have also let yourself be carried away despite your innate nobility and my guidance. Forgive him for everything, and even if you cannot bring yourself to love him, at least honour his memory for your brother lived and died like a true hero.’

  Listening to Krishna’s benevolent words, Arjuna’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I am grieved that it had to be this way between us. If only things had been different... If only fate had not chosen us as its playthings! What a miserable story this is! My mind refuses to conjure up anything pleasant associated with Karna; there is nothing but hatred and anger. I used to think that in future brothers would learn to live with one another, taking us as role models. Alas, now they will simply know us as the maniacs who killed their own brother. What a despicable example we have set for posterity.’

  Arjuna’s best friend soothed him and called together the other brothers. Krishna told them that by performing certain penances, they could cleanse themselves of the sin they had committed in their ignorance. The Pandavas were hardly appeased, and Yudhishthira was particularly depressed. Bheema and the twins were deeply disturbed. In a bid to lighten the mood, Bheema gruffly suggested that fratricide would have been inevitable either way; because one would have certainly killed the other in childhood, given what could have been a deep-rooted sibling rivalry. His brothers looked the other way, and Arjuna shook his head at this ill-timed jest. Yudhishthira gave him such an uncharacteristically stern look that Bheema lapsed into silence. Accompanied by Krishna and the elders, the Pandavas left that desolate site and made camp on the banks of the river. It had been a miserable day, and all everybody wanted was to rest their weary eyes and escape into slumber to forget, at least for some hours, the enormity of their self-inflicted tragedy.

  The Royal family made camp on the banks of the river Ganga and spent the duration of the mourning period there. Yudhishthira fell into a deep depression, as he felt that it was his desire for the accursed Kingdom that had resulted in so much pain. He decided that the only way to atone for his sins was to renounce the Kingdom and become a wandering hermit. His brothers, wife, Krishna, Vyasa, and some of the other sages, employed their collective powers of persuasion to dissuade him from such an anti-climactic course. By the end of the period of mourning, Yudhishthira was resigned to bearing the weight of the crown.

  The Pandavas shed their mourning clothes and with them, a heavy load of the emotional baggage they had been carrying. Dressed in fine clothes and adorned with jewellery that was even heavier than the armour and weapons they were used to carrying, the Royals took their places in the ceremonial procession that would take them to Hastinapura, the city from which their glorious ancestors had ruled. Dhritarashtra, as the former King, was at the head.

  Yudhishthira followed in a resplendent chariot fit for Indra, drawn by white bullocks. Bheema took the reins and said in his hearty voice, ‘I can hear the people s
creaming for us all the way here. It finally feels like we won a war and are conquering heroes. All that gloom and doom was extremely hard on my stomach. The good times are finally here again!’ And whooping with glee, Bheema urged the animals forward.

  His brothers were also feeling better than they had in a long time. Arjuna was holding the ceremonial umbrella over his brother’s head, and he felt at peace. The twins were fanning Yudhishthira with their chamaras, and their youthful laughter rang out like the peals of heavenly music and warmed everyone who heard it, as they basked in the glory of popular approbation.

  The women of the Royal house followed their men. They looked absolutely lovely in their beautiful garments and jewellery; but Draupadi stood out that day. She looked better than women half her age, who were still in the prime of their beauty. The wife of the Pandavas stood tall and proud, deeply content that her husbands had triumphed over the men who had dared defile her person. The loss of her five sons had torn her heart to smithereens. That enduring sadness had robbed her of her alluring smile but somehow enhanced her beauty. Uttara, Abhimanyu’s young widow, stood next to Draupadi, who held her protectively. Draupadi had already come to love Uttara’s unborn babe as her own. The thought lightened the lines of sorrow etched upon her features and made her radiant.

  Yuyutsu, the only son of Dhritarashtra, who had survived the battle, followed the Pandavas. Krishna and Satyaki were also part of the procession. The citizens of Hastinapura were ecstatic to see their beloved Pandavas again, and felt that all their troubles would disappear with Yudhishthira at the helm. It was a fresh beginning for them as well, and they welcomed their King with showers of flowers and voices that shouted their goodwill. Witnessing the jubilant expressions on their dear faces, Yudhishthira felt the last dregs of the sorrow and pain that had threatened to submerge him, fall away. He finally had the popular affirmation that he had done the right thing after all.

  Arjuna entered the Kingdom which he had won for his brother and felt a sense of deep satisfaction. He thought of Abhimanyu, who should have, if there was any justice in the world, been by his side; but that was not to be. Ultimately, there was some consolation to be had from the fact that Parikshit, Abhimanyu’s unborn son, would one day inherit the Kingdom that his grandfather had sacrificed so much to win.

  On reaching the palace, Krishna placed the crown on Yudhishthira’s head, while Draupadi sat by his side. The newly anointed King appointed Bheema as his heir. Arjuna became Commander-in-Chief of the army, the logistics of which, Nakula would take care of. Sahadeva, Yudhishthira kept by his side, as his personal protector and advisor, recognising his wisdom and intelligence. Sanjaya was made the Treasurer, and their indefatigable and indispensible uncle, Vidura, was appointed Chief Minister.

  21

  The Final Journey

  The years rolled by as all concerned put the battle firmly behind them and began rebuilding their lives. Arjuna was now completely involved in helping his brother run the Kingdom. Yudhishthira decided to perform the Ashwamedha sacrifice, and Arjuna was more than happy to follow the sacrificial horse to new lands and bring all under the suzerainty of his brother, with the help of his formidable Gandeeva. Those were good years for the third Pandava. With the death of Karna, he was without a rival and was, without doubt, the mightiest warrior in existence. Men trembled and women swooned in his presence; fathers told their sons stories about Arjuna and tried to inspire them to be like him. With the Gandeeva by his side, he was invincible and nobody knew it better than he did himself. Arjuna derived a sense of deep satisfaction from having achieved everything he had set out to do in his life, and took to dwelling increasingly on his triumphs as it dulled the pain in his heart, lacerated as it was by loss.

  Arrogance had always been Arjuna’s weakness. Following his many successes in the war and thereafter, the self-conceit he had barely managed to keep at bay, once again swelled his head. Yudhishthira, busy with the burden of governing his Kingdom, did not notice or correct him as was his usual wont. Bheema, who himself enjoyed boasting a good deal about his superior might, saw nothing wrong with Arjuna’s fine opinion of himself, especially as it was well deserved. He said as much to Sahadeva, who alone saw the change and mentioned it to Bheema.

  If there was one thing Arjuna loved more than listening to a suitably dramatised recitation of his valour, it was spending time with Krishna. And so it was his habit to leave for Dwaraka whenever Yudhishthira could spare him. The two friends would hunt, meditate, or simply talk.

  Arjuna was relaxing one day with his friend and recalling some of his finest moments, when a distraught Brahmin forced his way past the guards and came towards them, crying and beating his chest. Krishna barely threw a glance his way and instead chose to feed his pet parrot some special treats with a concentration that seemed rather too deep for so undemanding a task.

  ‘What is wrong with Krishna? It is not like him to be so callous about the feelings of others,’Arjuna mused to himself. He rushed to the Brahmin and raised him to his feet, feeling very compassionate indeed. ‘Tell me the problem and I assure you that I will take care of it!’ he said in all sincerity.

  The Brahmin then unfolded his woeful tale. Some malevolent force was clearly at work, because his wife had delivered nine healthy boys, only to see them die almost as soon as they uttered their first cry. He had repeatedly requested the King for protection, but none was forthcoming whatsoever. Now his wife was expecting yet another child, and it would break his heart if this one too, was to be snatched away.

  Arjuna heard him out and said, ‘Set your mind at rest, for now you have me and my Gandeeva as the protector of your next child. Send word to me when it is time, and I will send the God of Death back to his abode with a sharp arrow aimed so precisely at him that he will never bother you or your son again. And if I fail to do so, I will build a pyre and allow the flames to immolate me.’

  The Brahmin thanked him fervently and left with only a touch of scepticism and renewed hope in his heart. When his wife was ready to deliver their tenth child, he came to fetch Arjuna. The famed warrior snatched up his beloved bow and hastily followed him, wondering again at Krishna’s apparent disinterest.

  On reaching the Brahmin’s humble abode, Arjuna busied himself building a barricade of arrows around the hut to keep away all unwanted intruders, including the dark Lord of Death. The keening sound of a newborn was heard, only to be replaced abruptly by a hollow silence that was pierced by the wails of the distressed mother. The two men rushed inside, only to be told that the tenth child had gone the way of the others.

  The Brahmin rounded on Arjuna. ‘You promised me that you would keep him safe and you have gone back on your word. Bring back my child or forsake your life as you promised!’

  Arjuna could not believe that he had failed. He jumped onto his chariot and went in search of the missing baby. He searched the three worlds, but his efforts were fruitless. Even Indra, his divine father, would not help him and suggested that he go to Krishna instead. But Arjuna was strangely reluctant to do this. Realizing with disbelief that he had failed utterly in an undertaking, he returned to earth to end his life.

  For the second time since his ill-conceived vow to avenge his son Abhimanyu by killing Jayadratha or consign himself to flames, Krishna stopped him. In his chariot, he carried his friend to Vaikuntha, the abode of Vishnu. Many were the wonders Arjuna saw before an eerie darkness engulfed him – a darkness so complete that it came close to driving him to madness. Krishna released his Sudharshana Chakra to light the way by acting like a fiery comet blazing its way across the heavens.

  Soon the friends arrived at the abode of the Protector of the Universe. Vishnu reclined on his serpent Shesha. The Brahmin’s ten missing children were also present, playing at his feet and on Shesha’s hood. Arjuna stared in wonderment at the Lord, and felt blessed and humbled by the effulgence of the divine presence he was privileged to see.

  Vishnu blessed the two men paying obeisance to him and then said, ‘I
t was my wish that you pay a visit here, Arjuna. I was beginning to feel that you perhaps thought that you had no use for the Divine Protector. The entire charade with the Brahmin was designed so that my will could be carried out. You may take the children with you, so that they might be reunited with their parents. I take it that henceforth you will know better than to use your arrows to keep me away.’

  Arjuna was too astounded by his good fortune to have seen the Lord in his divine abode to feel grievously chastened; but he resolved not to be so arrogant in the future, for indeed, he was as nothing compared to the Divine Will. It was not the first time Krishna had enlightened him. Arjuna promised himself not to be blinded by his own vanity any more, especially since it had the unhappy result of his having come close to ending as a repast for Agni, the Fire God. Krishna still said nothing, but he was happy that his friend had learnt the lesson, for it was the last he would teach him in this avatar.

  True to Gandhari’s word, thirty-six years after the battle of Kurukshetra, the Vrishni clan was extinguished almost down to the last man. A few years previously, the sages Vishwamitra, Narada and Kanva, had visited Dwaraka. They were treated with due respect by all in the Kingdom. But a group of irreverent boys thought it would be funny to get one over the old men, who seemed to be awfully close to senility and hardly deserving of the reverence the good people of the realm were showering on them. Shamba, Krishna’s son by Jambhavati, was presented before the sages in the guise of a pregnant woman and the ill-advised youngsters requested the venerable guests of the Kingdom to hazard a guess as to the sex of the unborn child.