The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata

by Maggi Lidchi Grassi

  Island-born Greatfather turned on me astonished. “Why did you do that, Arjuna?” My astonishment was even greater than his own. I stared down at the tiger, lying on its side with blood streaking his cheek. His mouth was open in a snarl but he was well and truly dead.

  “What should I have done, Greatfather?” He held his hand out, his fingers in a mudra that said “fear not”. “My mantra would have stopped him.”

  “What if he had failed to heed it?” I protested. He turned his head away.

  “You are a child, Arjuna.” Without further comment, he ordered his gajaroha back to camp, leaving me to follow like a chastened student. When we got back to camp we found the elephants that had bolted standing in a tank being soothed by their gajarohas. “You were frightened by the nasty tiger,” they crooned to them. “Lord Arjuna has punished him. He will never frighten you again. He is the greatest bowman in the world. He can shoot with either hand.” I had to be content with this for Island-born Greatfather remained silent and unyielding. For a while I watched the gajarohas scrubbing the elephants’ sides and tickling them behind their ears with their long brushes. They splashed and played in the water like children. The elephants filled their trunks with water and blew it out. Finally Island-born Greatfather’s silence broke, his voice rising above the sounds of their merriment.

  Truth is the supreme, the supreme is truth.

  Through truth men never fall from the heavenly world

  For truth belongs to the spirits showered with grace.

  And as he sang he turned to me and smiled forgiveness. It was truly a smile of grace, reflecting the heavens where now rosy clouds, like wind-filled sails, moved on an expanse of blue. But in one of them I saw something that erased the day’s success and made me close my eyes in sudden pain— the shape of Durgadasa. The cloud drifted apart in four segments.

  At the first river we forded, a raft capsized and much equipment was lost. No sooner had we sorted out the mess and salvaged whatever equipment could be saved than the camels turned mutinous, one of them managing to throw down and trample a load of our supplies. When we reached the second river they all refused to enter the water. We finally roped eight camels together and tied them to the tail of a great tusker who began swimming them across. At this they became docile, casting sly sideways glances that said that this was how camels ought to be treated. The other elephants were then sent across, strings of men hanging on to their tails. Amidst all the shouting and plunging I began to wonder, as I always did at some point on expeditions, why I had been so eager to set out. Just then some bullocks floundered and we lost several karaputas in which the treasure was to be transported back to Hastina. The bullock drivers had overloaded them. There was much flailing about as we dove to cut the lashings and disburden the poor beasts. Why these mishaps? When you withhold the sacrifice, perhaps you cannot expect the gods’ protection. No, my heart protested. That was the priest’s voice. We were able to save the animals and karaputas, and I managed to swim about enough to cool off. Then I dived in again, this time for sport.

  It was still and cool under the surface. The confusion above it was of another world. I kicked my way down, scattering a school of fish. One trusting fellow came up to me and goggled with round eyes, then opened and closed his mouth as though to ask me what I wanted here. I reached out to touch the silver of his skin and he darted past me. It made me feel light-hearted and free to be down there alone. I was sorry that my need for breath would soon drive me back to the surface. Meanwhile I looked at the shadows on the river-bed. One of them turned into the sacred horse. I broke to the surface, heart pounding, gasping for air.

  We then made a bridge of boats for the bullocks and horses.

  Making short marches of a goyuta each day, we drove on into pristine wilderness where great flocks of white migrating birds with long forked tails came sailing down towards Island-born Greatfather and circled him with high-pitched cries. A few settled on his hands and shoulders, one perched upon his topknot. We watched them land on the shores of a crystal lake. Cranes came from beyond Mount Himavat in arrow-head formations and we watched them changing leaders. Grey-winged geese sailed upon the waters of a lake hardly rippling its surface, not mixing with the wild ducks or with their clay-pot coloured brothers. Kingfishers flashed and dipped, emerging triumphant with their prey. They made the brilliant sky look pale. At our approach the spotted partridges retreated beside the stones and teased us into guessing which was which. The cormorants looked down into the water to see the reflections of their huge, hooked bills. Tirelessly I gazed at great mountain squirrels streak black, orange, and gold against the darker bark of trees and perform their upside-down acrobatics upon the slenderest branches.

  The whole universe was indeed the All-Creator’s game. In these days I was deeply at peace and full of faith that Krishna’s vision would prevail.

  I loved to sit beside Greatfather. One day we watched the butterflies moving amongst the purple Shankha Pushpa creepers. Their inner spirit flowed through Island-born Greatfather to me, and back again. Suddenly the world began to move as wings beat up to push the air down and a thousand birds moved skyward with thunderous clapping. We gazed and gazed.

  When I could speak again I said to Island-born Greatfather, “This is the leela. What use have we for gold?”

  At last he turned to look at me. The air was clear and sweet. I had always felt when I was in the mountains that I would not grow old in cities, that one day the mountain gods would call me and keep me till the end. I told Greatfather of my fancy.

  “No one can keep you prisoner, Arjuna. One day you will return to the heights for good, I will tell you when it is time. I promise. It is not yet. None can be released before his time, neither you nor I, without unbalancing creation. You know that.” I nodded.

  We moved on with the mountains looking down on us. We worshipped Rudra and we worshipped the Lord of Treasures with purity of purpose in our hearts. And one day Greatfather Vyasa said we had arrived to where the treasure lay.

  O Earth, that which I am digging out of thee, may it grow forthwith;

  O Purifier, let me not disturb thy heart or soul.

  The Brahmins who were accompanying us chanted their mantras and, strengthened by their blessings, we began to dig. What came up first were rare and precious vessels of every kind—Bhringaras, Katahas, Kalasas, Bardhamanakas, and Bhajanas. They were crusted with gems and glistened in the sun. The wealth came up in such profusion, I saw Island-born Greatfather had not exaggerated. Our thousands of karaputas were not too many and we regretted those that had been lost to the river bed.

  Sixteen thousand coins were placed upon the back of every camel, four and twenty thousand would be carried by the elephants that waited at base camp, eight thousand on each of the carts. We would have to load the mules and horses too and there was still so much more wealth that we had to load it on the backs and heads of men. One lost sense of the value of the riches that we handled. It welled up like water bubbling endlessly from a spring. Finally Eldest called for us to stop.

  “Let us take no more. Surely we should leave the rest for the sons of Parikshita to offer sacrifices.” I had begun to think the guardians of this wealth might keep us here forever.

  Once it was over, a sense of what we held returned. The earth we had trampled in the war had yielded us her treasure. She was the Mother and she contained all things. Greatfather chanted,

  She contains all things.

  She holds every substance.

  She is the foundation.

  Gold-breasted, she harbours the world.

  She harbours the whole world.

  What she had given us to carry was not only gold, but riches of the spirit. As always, when I parted from these regions, my heart yearned to return.

  May the hills, the snowy ranges,

  The forests bring happiness to thee on earth.

  I gave thanks that the treasure had been secured without mishap. The gods of sacrifice could not be very angry wi
th me.

  On returning we had to keep our minds upon the track for it had rained and the paths were slippery. Camels are sure-footed in the high places, and lower down the elephants were waiting for us. The voices of the gajarohas echoed off the hills. “Walk gently, O my treasure…”

  “…Treasure…easure…easure,” the echo came back. And the world seemed filled with names of love.

  The gajarohas were almost never silent, warning our mounts, promising them that soon they would be home and telling them that they had been successful and had made it possible for the king to have a lovely Ashwamedha. I had been at peace, but that single word brought all the turmoil back.

  Home. On one end of my scale was the joy of seeing Parikshita and Subhadra once again; on the other were my thoughts of Durgadasa, and the pans of the balance tilted with my thoughts. The path by which Greatfather Vyasa led us down was perilous and no place to displease the gods. I would have to rein in my thoughts. The swollen rivers rushed below, far down in a world that came too fast towards us. Soon the air would lose its crispness.

  It was a world of gods we left behind us. There were sages in the mountain caves who did not come out to greet us but whose blessings, we knew, sustained the world and would help it through the Kali Yuga. I sent them a prayer.

  My bowman’s ear heard the first pebble. Then everyone heard the patter as little stones fell all about us. Three hundred gajarohas pleaded with their frightened elephants to take no notice, but the elephants had better sense. The stones stopped falling, but a sign from Island-born Greatfather halted our advance. The elephants were squealing, their ears pressed stiffly back. They raised their trunks and trumpeted, and when Island-born Greatfather beckoned us forward again, they would not move. A rattling sound…a shower of stones in front of Greatfather, and then the first great boulder. Then with a roar like a thousand thunders, countless others dislodged themselves from the mountain ledge above and shot past into the valley below. You cannot shoot a boulder with an arrow and I knew no astra against a landslide. Then, in between the shouting and the yelling and the deadly shifting of the mountain there arose the brief measures of a chant for peace. Island-born Greatfather stood upon the seat of his varandaka, his arms aloft. His face was turned to the mountain so that I saw his hawknose in profile. His features were set. He might have been part of the rock face, standing thus from the beginning of creation, not knowing of the falling sand or boulders or mountains crashing down on him. The rattling withdrew as though to listen; a last spattering of little stones with one hitting me on the calf, then all was quiet. It was a total silence and all of us, men and animals, observed it. You could hear our breathing. Island-born Greatfather did not move. Then his wrinkled half-lowered eyelids flickered and came down.

  Eldest was right. One must not carry disbelief. One could not. Just as when in Indraloka I saw that whatever we had inherited of grace and charm came from Urvashi, the mother of our race, I saw now that what we had of strength and wisdom came through the influence of this island-born sage who had sired our father.

  Greatfather had finished his chanting but his arms were raised against the sky and his top knot challenged it. He turned around. There was a challenge in his eyes for me as well.

  He follows the track of all the spirits,

  Of nymphs and the deer of the forest.

  Understanding their thoughts, bubbling with ecstasies,

  Their appealing friend is he,

  The long-haired ascetic.

  At base camp we unloaded the elephants and climbed back into the mountains. This time the mountain spirit did not contest our passage.

  Om That Sat

  4

  I still remember the moment in Hastina’s palace courtyard when the first camels knelt and were unburdened: Not even what Maya had brought us for our Indraprastha Sabha could equal these riches.

  To plan and raise an edifice is to say yes to life. To erect it for the gods, is to lift oneself above life’s joys and sorrows. You cannot doubt your work’s meaning or its value. The shape you give it is your participation in creation and draws you closer to the All-Creator.

  Eldest who had never yearned for luxury and had wanted wealth only to bestow it on others, now set his mind on splendour, to building palaces for all the tributary kings, as well as an Ashwamedha sabha. The crystal palace built by Duryodhana to rival our Maya-Sabha in Indraprastha was filled with bitter memories. A new sabha was the first thing that came to mind as we let the gems stream through our fingers, our eyes blessing the gold.

  The Maya-Sabha in Indraprastha had been, at least in part, a gift to me from the demon architect for saving him and, besides the great light which struck you when you entered, it was full of playful things. There had been reflections of innocent, hopeful times when we were untouched by thoughts of war. Eldest’s Sabha would be something from another world coming to meet the earth. When Eldest and the priests were saying mantras over this cornerstone, I knew that in the walls would be the blood and bones, the hearts and minds of all the Kshatriyas who were slain in the great battle. I thought then that the world was cleansed, and there would never again be need for war. There was no reason why the sons of Parikshita should not rule in peace for another sixty years, and then another and another, and so on until the end of earthly time. For who, having heard of Kurukshetra, would ever want to amass the armies of Bharata against his foes. The story must be handed down with all its brutal details. Already Island-born Greatfather was chanting parts of the war, which Sanjaya had relayed to him. It made me smile with sweet grief, to hear of Uttarakumara’s death on the first day.

  5

  The construction of the new sabha and the golden arches was a complex task. The measurements had to be exact if we were to expect auspicious times once more. It was said that the calculations that had been used in constructing the Crystal Palace had not been taken carefully: Duryodhana’s rage and haste to invite us to the dice game had meant that preparations were scamped; never else could the great swindle, much less what happened to an empress of Bharatavarsha, have taken place under that roof.

  As the day of the full moon of the month of Magha approached, Eldest asked Bheema to look, together with priests learned in the Ashwamedha, for an appropriate sacrificial spot. A site beside the river was selected and measured out. A small auspicious tributary meandered through it, fed by a spring that bubbled crystal clean between rocks. Mantras were chanted as the priests circumabulated the area. Conches sounded, while tablas and mridangams were beaten in a controlled frenzy of celebration.

  Soon the site was teeming with men clearing trees and levelling the ground. All realized that they were working for the great offering. Their rhythmical song and movements became one. The sound itself was like a mantra. The floor was sown with gems and jewels. The columns rose from the gates up to the Ashwamedha platform, a series of triumphal arches like pairs of golden trees through which the kings would pass to their apartments. A whole fourth of the treasure would be spent on these. Then would come the mansions for the kings I had befriended or subdued, with apartments for their ladies and their courtiers. Eldest took care not to fell any of the sacred trees—the neem, peepal, ashok and banyan that grew by the river. He had always had great respect for animals and plants but after Kurukshetra, he demanded their protection as though they were his own vamsha. It was this in him that gave me hope I might soon speak of Durgadasa. The upper storeys would have a view onto the arches and would see the water flowing silver in the morning and touched by rose at sunset.

  On the day that we began the Sabha, Eldest conducted Uncle Dhritarashtra and Aunt Gandhari to the site. Thrones had been carried down for everyone. Uncle Vidura and Sanjaya sat one on either side of Uncle, both gently beaming. There was a mellowness about the day.

  Yuyutsu sat at Uncle Dhritarashtra’s feet to remind him that he had a son. From time to time Uncle put out his hand to stroke his head. For, many of us a new cycle started on that day. Afterward, people would mark time by
saying, “before the building of the Sabha” or “in the year of the new Sabha.”

  On this first public occasion people noticed something new in Eldest: He said that what the heart found fitting was as good as what time-honoured custom decreed. He bade the priests to begin chanting the hymns he had chosen. He did not look to Uncle Vidura to support him. His voice was full of vigour. Uncle Vidura gave me a knowing look, then looked back at Eldest with eyes full of pride. All this augured well for Durgadasa, if only I could let the wind of truth blow through me.

  When the time came to bury the rubies, diamonds, and emeralds under the cornerstone, Eldest did not call on Uncle Dhritarashtra but stepped firmly forward himself. Making the ritual gestures, he advanced and circled the site, following the priests from left to right. The hymn that he had chosen to accompany this rite was a favourite of his and from that time on, became a favourite of mine.

  Island-born Greatfather later classed it with the Atharvaveda hymns.

  I offer a song to this God, Inspirer

  Of heaven and earth, surpassingly wise,

  Possessed of real energy, giver of treasure,

  Dear to all hearts!

  His splendour extends far and wide, his light

  Shines brightly in creation. He traverses the sky,

  Golden-handed, measuring the heaven by his appearance,

  Full of wisdom!

  It was you, God, who inspired our Father of old,

  Granting him space above and on all sides.

  May we too enjoy day by day your blessings

  And life abundant!

  This Inspirer God, the Friend whom we adore,