The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata

by Maggi Lidchi Grassi

  “It was a veritable palace of delight, I can tell you,” roared Bheema. “Duryodhana wanted to make us the fireworks. Purochana had stuffed every possible corner and hollow with inflammable material and had placed every bed, couch, and chair in positions where they must shoot into flames at the first spark.” Everybody started talking at once, and in the bedlam I caught some more details.

  It had been Vidura who warned them and saved them, who had had an underground passage built, and the Pandavas themselves who had set fire to the palace one night. After plying Purochana, his friends and his tribal woman with much as they could drink, they had lowered themselves into the opening of the concealed tunnel. When they were exhausted, Bheema had carried them through the tunnel on his shoulders and hips; Bheema had already perfected this part of the story.

  They reached the river bank and could go no further; the palace was burning wax; but a boat was waiting to take them across the Ganga— Vidura had not failed them.

  These stories made good listening and the brothers seemed more pleased with the escape and with having tricked Duryodhana than angry or bitter at the attempt on their lives.

  The talk came back, as it inevitably had to do, to the swayamvara and the magnificent way in which Arjuna had won Draupadi.

  “And will you marry her, Arjuna, or will Eldest brother?” asked Krishna. He waited the silence out and said, “Why do you not all marry her?”

  There was another silence. It was not a joke in bad taste or the prelude to a rebuke. Krishna waited to know.

  I cannot remember his words, but by the time he had finished speaking, we were all convinced that such a marriage would not be Adharma but a good thing. As for public opinion, it was for kings to mould, and the Pandavas were kings.

  “If you are all pure, then nothing can touch you. Your queen is like a bright flame and she will be your strength and your protection.”

  “But,” said Yudhishthira, “do not the Shastras forbid it? A man may have more than one wife, but a woman? We do not want to bring disgrace to Panchali or her father.” Even if Yudhishthira were dying of love for Draupadi, he was unable to forget the Shastras.

  “No,” exploded Krishna. “There was a time when it was not Adharma for a woman to have more than one husband. What is wrong for others may not be wrong for you. The Pandava brothers are one, like this.” He held up his palm in the gesture of “nothing to fear”, the five fingers resting together. “Do what is right for you, follow your Dharma.”

  So he toppled all the Shastras, customs, and usage with a word and a gesture. It was as though he had lifted a veil from the sun or stopped the mind from fighting the heart. It was hard to remember that he was younger than anyone in the room except the twins. Mother Kunti was weeping with devotion. Though she was his aunt, she got up and touched his feet.

  I went to sleep that night wondering how Krishna had changed the ludicrous and impossible circumstances into a model of success. I began to believe in the Krishna legend.

  “I cannot countenance such a thing,” said Drupada next day. “I am honoured and relieved to know that you are the Pandavas and not Brahmins, and since Arjuna won her, though he is not the eldest, he may marry her. Or if you like, any one of the brothers may marry her,” he said. “Or even the twins together,” he conceded after a long silence. “But not all five. We will have all the kings coming back again in protest, asking for Draupadi to jump into the fire rather than accept this. You, Arjuna, have no kingdom, and if the other kings make it an excuse to unite against me, your fatherin-law will not have one either.”

  “But you forget I am on your side this time,” said Arjuna with his winsome smile. “And Krishna.”

  It was finally decided that Vyasa and Dhaumya, the Pandavas’ priest, should be consulted. Vyasa too, said it was in order for the Pandavas to marry Draupadi and that it was indeed their destiny to do so since she had in a previous incarnation incurred this karma by insistently praying five times for a good husband. Dhaumya and Drupada’s priest supported Krishna, so there was nothing left for Drupada but to capitulate.

  What had been impossible a few days before was now an accomplished fact. In time and on successive days when the moon was in conjunction with Rohini at the end of the month of Chaitra, the Pandavas were married to Draupadi with Dhaumya conducting the rites and chanting mantras and each brother leading her around the sacred fire on auspicious days.

  We were carefree and merry as though making up for the childhood years without Krishna. It was he who led us in our games and dances and when we fell exhausted from our play, he soothed and enchanted us with his flute. After this the greatest luxury was to sit around telling the thousands of stories that had filled the years of separation. One of my favourites was the story of the birth of Ghatotkacha, Bheema’s son.

  It was Arjuna who told me of Hidimbi and Hidimba. Yudhishthira sat silent and amused. Bheema listened as though he were hearing of these extraordinary adventures for the first time, opening his mouth in wonder or guffawing and slapping his thighs. As always, Sahadeva, unless you asked him a direct question, was silent, but there was knowledge in his eyes as though he might have been in Arjuna’s mind spinning out the stories.

  At first I thought Arjuna was pulling our legs when he told of Bheema’s marriage to a Rakshasa woman and the birth of their Rakshasa son Ghatotkacha.

  “Her brother Hidimba, a notorious man-eater, sent her to capture us all so they could eat our flesh and drink our bubbling blood, but naturally she fell madly in love with the irresistible Bheema.” Many years later I saw the fang-toothed, pot-bald, charming, and loyal Ghatotkacha when Sahadeva brought him from the south for the Rajasuya. This was the story.

  It had been a dreadful journey away from the Abode of Delight. Once in the forest, Bheema had still to carry Mother Kunti, and often the twins, one on each hip, as his powerful thighs took him over the rough terrain, his chest pushing aside the vegetation. He swam them all across torrential rivers.

  Often there was nothing to eat and they had only the shrill cries of the sarasa cranes to guide them to a lake.

  One evening, when they had reached a forest, a ghostly twilight descended. Mother Kunti and the brothers fell into sleep under a tall sala tree and Bheema kept watch. He happened to look up into the tree and saw two pairs of red eyes looking down at him. Then two eyes were left. A moon smiled out to throw its light on a fearful face flanked by ears like arrow-heads. The Rakshasa, for such it was, yawned, scratched his stiff curls and belched with hunger. He then said something in Rakshasa language—grunt, grunt, grunt. A moment later an exquisite young woman appeared beside Bheema. She was Hidimbi whose task it was to capture the brothers. She had transformed herself into a voluptuous girl. Compelled by love to tenderness, she forgot her hunger for human flesh and warned Bheema in whispers about her brother’s intention, and then without more ado she offered herself to Bheema and promised to save them all.

  “If you want to please me, call your brother.” Hidimbi knew the Kshatriya Dharma and reminded Bheema of his obligation to a woman burning with love. Bheema again urged her to call her brother, protesting that he could not take a wife before Eldest did. The whispered pleading and refusals went on for so long that the impatient Hidimba climbed down from the tree and, seeing his sister in the guise of a lovely maiden, her radiant face framed by flower garlands, he guessed that she lusted for a man. He rushed at her shouting that she wronged her ancestors by this heinous crime. He would have killed her but for Bheema.

  “I will send you to the land of Yama before I let you kill a woman.” With enraged squeals and grunts Hidimba tackled Bheema who simply dragged him several bow-lengths away like a lion dragging his prey.

  All this time Bheema was trying not to disturb Mother Kunti and his brothers, but when they grappled like two mad elephants, the trees trembled and Mother Kunti and her other sons awoke to see the gorgeous Hidimbi, who began at once to plead her cause with Kunti. While she told of how she had been possessed by Manm
atha, the god of love, Kunti stared sleepily at the dust-covered figures locked in battle.

  Arjuna ran towards them ready to help, but Bheema angrily told him to mind his own business.

  The glow of a false dawn was in the east.

  “Bheema!” shouted Arjuna, at the first light of day. “The Rakshasas are at the height of their strength. Stop playing with him. Finish him off quickly.” Bheema lifted Hidimba above his head and whirled him around a hundred times while Arjuna anxiously watched for the sun.

  “If you need my help…” Goaded by Arjuna, Bheema dashed Hidimba to the floor of the forest. Hidimba gave out a horrible sound like a thud on a wet drum and died.

  The long and the short of it was that Hidimbi won Mother Kunti’s compassion, no hard task for anyone in distress, and persuaded her to give Bheema permission to cohabit with her until she conceived.

  When an intense-eyed, wide-mouthed, arrow-eared baby was born to Hidimbi, Mother Kunti and his uncles immediately fell in love with him. From the first day Yudhishthira insisted that he had a good heart, which turned out to be true and, because his little round head was bald, the twins suggested that he be called Ghatotkacha—bald as a pot.

  15

  News of the Pandavas’ survival spread fast. My father sent a messenger to recall me immediately. Krishna and Vyasa were about to go their own way, and I could not disobey my father. The princes were all leaving.

  The Pandavas’ allies were now Krishna, Lord of the Vrishnis, and Dhrishtadyumna, two of the greatest warriors alive; the Pandavas were undisputed lords of Kampila, Draupadi’s capital.

  When it became generally known in Hastinapura that the victorious Brahmin archer had been Arjuna, Karna insisted on attacking Panchala. He felt that if they struck immediately, they might achieve the supremacy they wanted at no matter what sacrifice. Duryodhana and Karna collected an army and descended on Kampila. Pleading illness, I did not go with them. When they returned routed I could almost find it in myself to be sorry for Duryodhana; for the first time he seemed to sense that there might be something in his destiny which could prevent him from exterminating the Pandavas. Even to humiliate them began to seem impossible in spite of the best endeavours of Duryodhana’s evil shadows: Shakuni, Kanika, and Karna.

  When Duryodhana heard of his father pretending to rejoice with Vidura about the good fortune of the Pandavas, he nearly went out of his mind and started raving, though he had not yet drunk wine that day. It was certainly not a situation to bring out his nobility which became less evident with each stroke of good fortune which fell to the Pandavas. As usual, the first thing that he thought of was an extravagant gift. He even considered bribing Drupada.

  Then he had an idea worthy of Shakuni himself.

  “The idiots have all married the same wife. Why should we not make the gorgeous Draupadi a cause of jealousy amongst them? It may be difficult to kill Bheema, without whom Arjuna could do nothing, but there must be some way of getting Draupadi away from them; without Dhrishtadyumna as their brother-in-law, they would not be so sure of themselves.”

  Karna was patient.

  “Duryodhana, I am sorry to hear you speak thus. It does you no justice. We are warriors. What have the methods of Kanika, Shakuni and Purochana ever brought you? Make the brothers jealous of each other? Have you ever tried unravelling a single hair? You cannot bribe your way between them. Let us fight, Duryodhana, my beloved benefactor and friend. I am ready to lay down my life for you.”

  I sat with my father amidst the great assembly which included Uncle Kripa, Bablika, Somadatta, and Uncle Vidura to hear this speech of Karna’s. Inevitably, the other elders demonstrated their commitment to peace with long discourses.

  Greatfather Bheeshma spoke last and he was firm. He wanted the Pandavas back. He asked Duryodhana to invite his cousins to share the kingdom.

  “We have that rare thing, a second chance, and if you follow the right course now, the suspicion of foul play, which has unfortunately fallen upon you, will be washed away.” My father jumped up to support Bheeshma. “Yes, Dhritarashtra. It is the only thing to do.”

  Karna, of course, opposed him and then Vidura got up and addressed his brother most earnestly.

  “Do not listen to Karna: he is a hothead. This is your opportunity to cleanse your name and your soul. Besides which, the Pandavas are now made mighty by their marriage and mightier still by the support of Krishna. We have seen what happens to those who oppose Krishna. Think of King Kamsa. If you do not realize what it means to oppose Krishna, think of what it means to oppose Bheema and Arjuna.” He paused. “Above all, act in accordance with Dharma. Where there is Dharma, there is victory.”

  Yes, no, yes, no. We could see Dhritarashtra swayed this way and that. Dhritarashtra, easily moved to folly, was equally moved by lofty sentiments. Ready tears flowed down his cheeks. “I too want the peace of the kingdom,” he said, “I too want peace.”

  “Yes, we know,” Vidura pressed his advantage. “Duryodhana and Karna are too young and too fiery to understand, but you, you will do the right thing. We know that you want the good of the kingdom and we know your love for the sons of your brother.”

  The result was that Vidura went as ambassador to Panchala where he was received with all honour by King Drupada and the grateful Pandavas. Krishna, who in Dwaraka had heard of the Kaurava attack, was there with Balarama to meet Uncle Vidura. The meeting was charged with emotion. Even Drupada, not a sentimental man, was moved to tears.

  I myself had very much wanted to go with Vidura, but my father said: “Do not make it more difficult than necessary for Duryodhana and Karna.”

  When Uncle Vidura had distributed the gifts sent by Dhritarashtra to Drupada, the Pandavas and Draupadi, he delivered his well-rehearsed lines as sincerely as he could.

  “King Dhritarashtra is joyful at the news of his dear sons’ escape from the fire and he awaits their embrace.”

  Krishna, in the mood for comedy, wagged his head from side to side as though sympathizing with the blind king. Bheema who dealt in heavy sarcasm said, “Poor Uncle must have suffered.” Vidura continued with his embassy which was the invitation to Hastinapura where the people, in a frenzy of excitement and joy, waited to welcome the Pandavas and their bride.

  Drupada’s permission was officially asked. Drupada was at the peak of his satisfaction. His most cherished dream had come true and, once he had got over his daughter’s marrying five husbands, he discovered the advantages thereby. The Pandavas had turned out to be men after his own heart and he realized that Draupadi had married not only the greatest warrior in Arjuna but also the strongest man in Bheema and, in Yudhishthira, the wisest. With this abundance of good fortune and under Krishna’s spell he had become mellow and left the decision to Krishna. No one could anticipate Krishna’s directions.

  “Yes, by all means they should go to Hastinapura.” Hastinapura! That bed of serpents. Many questions had had to be asked before they could believe that Krishna was serious, but he was. Arjuna himself told me the story in detail.

  Hastinapura was delirious in its reception of the Pandavas and Krishna. The streets had been sprayed with perfumed water, garlands and flowers hung from every post and window. The people lined the road from the outskirts of the city; they ran up to the chariots, calling out their good wishes, throwing flowers, trying to touch the feet of the Pandavas and of Draupadi. The younger brothers of Duryodhana rode out a long way beyond the gates to welcome them. I was there with my father and Uncle Kripa. The only thought in my mind was that nothing but good would come to Hastinapura now; Krishna’s presence would act as a blessing which would wipe out the corruption and all evil would be undone.

  Gandhari raised Draupadi, who had fallen at her feet, and embraced her. As they drew apart, Gandhari gave a deep shuddering sigh.

  Her maidservant heard her mutter, “She has come who will be the death of my sons.”

  Krishna and the Pandavas were invited to the assembly hall for Dhritarashtra’s proclamation w
hich was couched in the most courteous terms; since the kingdom had been so increased due to the valour of his dear brother Pandu, the Pandavas were entitled to rule it. His decision was to divide the kingdom between Duryodhana, who would have Hastinapura, and Yudhishthira, who would become lord of Khandavaprastha.

  Khandavaprastha. Half the kingdom indeed!

  Khandavaprastha was an old ruined city; it had been destroyed by the curse of the Rishis. It had once been the seat of the great Puru and of other illustrious emperors, but it was a ruin nonetheless and surrounded by dense encroaching forests. The rest of the territory was wasteland where nothing would grow and nobody could live. Yudhishthira was the only one who did not receive this news with bitterness. Without his blindness, Dhritarashtra would surely have been reduced to ashes by the contempt in Krishna’s smile.

  Yudhishthira in all humility went before the king and bowing low said, “Your wishes are my wishes.” Bheema and Arjuna exchanged angry glances; these were not their wishes. The twins did not have to exchange glances.

  Dhritarashtra continued eagerly, “Let the coronation be seen. We all want to see Yudhishthira crowned.” At these words, Vyasa entered the hall. Everyone including Dhritarashtra got to his feet to honour this auspicious visitor.

  Vyasa himself set the day for the coronation. The true friends of Yudhishthira, Bheeshma, my father, Kripa, Dhaumya, Vyasa, and Krishna gave the traditional blessing. “Conquer the entire world. May your fame spread to the four quarters like perfume carried on the breeze.”