The sea was hissing, flinging itself at the rocks and at my dreams as though to wash them away. Krishna’s smiling face was drowned out by the encroaching waves. The lowering sky had a substance thicker than my memory of Krishna. The water looked like molten lead churned up. The chariot horses did not like it either. They arched their necks and raked the ground.
Daruka was still telling me of things that had to be done. There were the bodies. We must see to their disposal if sea water did not beat the funeral fire to the task. I did not care whether Dwaraka went to Agni or to Indra. Still, a modicum of purpose and dull silence began to infiltrate my grief and rage. I had once asked Krishna about the curse that hung over Dwaraka and he had answered that Dwaraka would have to perish when he did. He had finished with a jest: “So we may as well provide an outlet for Aunt Gandhari’s punya.” Nobody remained who would ever say that sort of thing to me again, and I began to weep. Without my telling him, Daruka had flicked his whip above the horses and their pace had lengthened. Their foam flew back at us. It had no feel of battle. Now we approached the fortress gates of Dwaraka, but there was no sweetness, no welcome. Only bitterness filled my heart. There was a bend now in the road, and as the water turned away from us, I told it we would meet again. Then the sound of the sea was lost in the drumbeat of the horses’ galloping hoofs.
23
When we came to a stream, we stopped to water the horses. I took the chance to probe further. “Daruka, tell me what happened. Whose fault was it?” asked the warrior in me. Surely there was something I could still do. Daruka shook his head. He must have seen my thoughts.
“It was Kala himself,” he replied. “Even by day he was seen wandering through the streets. He was Time and Death himself. You cannot kill Lord Kala, Prince Arjuna. He was terrible to look at, fierce and bold. His skin was black and tawny. He would peer into the houses. Some of the Vrishni bowmen shot their arrows at him but in vain. The winds blew strong, bringing dust and evil things with them. Night and day the Brahmins observed rites.” Daruka was adopting his bardic manner and could not be stopped or hurried on by questions. I sank anew into the horror of what we had already heard in Hastina: “The sacrificial fires were blown to the left and gleamed with an ashy light. The priests became discouraged. At night rats and mice nibbled at the nails of sleeping men. The Sarika birds called out with their weird sounds, perched on the Vrishni houses. By day and night they called, ‘Come, let us go; it is time.’” Shudders ran through me.
“Jackals howled day and night and the goats began to imitate them. No bird of bad omen stayed out of the houses. A cow dropped a donkey instead of a calf, and elephants were delivered of calves with two heads or eight limbs. Then three lunations brought about by Rahu were seen in a single solar day. After that fatal sign, Lord Arjuna, poison crept into the people’s hearts. The wine shops had been closed by order of Lord Krishna but wine was sold in secret. Priests were not respected. Indeed, Shamba and Sharana, drunk and belligerent, dragged two old Brahmins into the street and shouted for people to come and see how useless their endless chanting was. I think if Lord Krishna and Lord Balarama had not stopped them, they would have thrown the priests into the sacrificial pits. Such was the madness of the hour. Wives and husbands looked for other partners and in all the city shame was lost. There was no hope in people’s eyes as chaos reigned in the cosmos. Lord Krishna knew that the time had come. He sent out messengers to gather all the Vrishnis for a pilgrimage to the sacred waters of Prabhasha. That is where it happened…”
When I saw he could talk no more for grief I bade him take me to my Uncle.
The fortress loomed above us. It had withstood every attempt to enter it. Few had even tried.
Now the gates were unguarded. That told me all I had to know about the city. Women flitted here and there like ghosts, often barely getting out of our chariot’s way. They seemed bereft of sense, many were clad in little more than rags, having rent their clothes in their grief. Some carried children, or led old men and women. They were women of all castes. I leaned forward to Daruka, shouting against their wailing and the pounding of the horses’ hooves, “Where are the men?”
“The Kshatriyas are all dead. All, truly all. Only some of the children are left to carry on the line. Lord Krishna’s grandson Vajra, Lord Satyaki’s and Lord Kritavarman’s sons.”
“What about the Shudras?”
“Many joined in the brawl and also died defending their masters. Prince Arjuna, we must get the women to collect their belongings. We are to take them to Hastina, by Lord Krishna’s order, after we have installed Lord Vajra in Indraprastha.”
As we neared the palace, passing through the richer suburbs, the same scene met my eyes, save only that the rent clothes the women wore were of finer cloth. Kshatriya and wealthy Vaishya women roamed the streets like beggars dressed in worn garments. Not one in two had done any ritual bathing and changed into widows’ cloth. Only the tall and lovely mansions gleamed, freshly painted in mourning white, as though they knew they were bereft of their men folk.
Now Krishna’s father’s palace was before us, its arched gates opened, guarded by a boy who must have been a potter’s son. The clay was in his hair. I posted two men at the gates and sent others to the palace within. “Send me anyone who tries to enter,” I said. Our chariots clattered over the courtyard stones between the lotus pools and rows of lilies. The flowering trees still blazed with yellow, red, and purple but there was little bird song. Some Kokilas were hiding their heads beneath their wings as birds do at an eclipse.
24
Krishna’s body had been laid out in the great chamber, facing eastward. After the keening of the grief-stricken women in the streets and in the outer courtyards came the sudden silence of royal mourning. And a great light. I walked into it as though entering into a different country where Krishna must be waiting. It was like stepping over a threshold into another world where one breathed a different air.
The royal ladies who sat around him made way. Through the swirling incense smoke, his face, its radiant darkness only a little dimmed, smiled as though in calm and happy sleep.
I moved beside the bed and put my head upon his hand. I touched his feet and then my eyes. There was a tiny wound in the sole of his right foot, but it had almost healed. Once before I had come upon him asleep, when Duryodhana and I had raced to reach him first. Then too I had stood like this before him, but now his eyes refused to open. I lay my head on his feet. They were already cold against my cheek.
He was, as always, dressed in gold. His hair, still full of life and lustre, lay upon his shoulder and angavastra. I took his hand in mine. It too was cold.
My anger had passed; now I felt only a great loss and grief at his having gone without me. It was as though he had driven away in our chariot and left me standing in the dust after a battle.
Through an archway I could see his sons laid out as he was. Even from where I sat I saw that they were disfigured with great red and purple bruises on their arms and faces. Their ladies and some of their younger sons sat by their bodies. Three women were laid out beside the men. What sort of battle must it have been? I looked around for Krishna’s wives. Rukmini and Satyabhama sat against the wall, their hands over their faces. Even as I looked, Rukmini got up to walk beyond the arch and sit where Pradyumna, her first-born, lay. One woman had a plaster of leaves on her forehead. Daruka led me to my Uncle Vasudeva. He was on his death bed.
I hardly recognized him. His hurt was deeper than the death wounds of his children. Could this weak old man with trembling mouth be my Uncle Vasudeva, Krishna’s father? He tried to rise up but fell back. I touched his feet and sat down beside him. He raised himself again, trying to take the scent from my hair. I helped him up.
“Arjuna,” he moaned. I bent to let him take my head between his palms. He drew it to him and wept gently. “This universe is empty. Arjuna, my child, I have lost sons and sons of my sons, my daughter’s sons, brothers and friends, and even my sons’ wives. T
his universe is empty and I am still alive in it. Am I cursed?” His hand tightened on my wrist. “Arjuna, I must remove the burden of myself from this earth.”
I tried to make him speak of what had happened. His eyes, that were like Krishna’s, widened. His voice was hoarse with pain.
“Some evil remained. Kritavarman and Satyaki. Satyaki! You were his guru. He was your pride as you were Dronacharya’s. Satyaki lived a life of valour. But he lost ten sons, and after that he was no longer moderate with his wine.” His voice rose stronger. He had a need to talk and held his arms up like a child for me to lift him higher. “You see, Arjuna, the great battle was never finished. An evil seed remained, an astra buried deep in time. It brought forth its evil fruit.”
So Satyaki had started it. I had seen his reckless wit when he was in his cups. His tongue had never had the measure of his archer’s eye.
Satyaki, my son Satyaki! They said that he looked like Abhimanyu. I bowed my head down and let my tears drop. But the old Lord had sorrow and to spare without my adding to it; all I could do was let him know that everything would be conducted with due rites. Even when your sons are lying dead and not one warrior remains alive in the palace, one needs to know that things are done as they have always been, as Dharma decrees. But he went on. “Satyaki never had a liking for Kritavarman. You know better than I how many challenges they threw at each other in the war. After, they stayed far from each other and their friends favoured this. But then wine drew them together. But when…” He closed his eyes. “There was mischief in it. Krishna had understood and had the wine shops closed.” He wanted to say more but could no longer speak. He looked behind me and I turned to see Daruka there with arms decorously folded. My uncle signed him to sit down and to continue. Like many sutas, Daruka had been trained to chant and speak of the great deeds of his master’s ancestors. Now he took the tale up and I was able to see it in its completeness.
There had been a feast on the Prabhasha stretch of shore. Daruka wiped his eyes and his moustache as he spoke. “It had been planned, you see, my Lord, as a pilgrimage to the holy waters of Prabhasha.” Palace ladies were coming in and out of the chamber to see if Uncle needed anything and to sometimes lift a pot of water to his lips. When they saw us listening to Daruka they went back to their dead. “But soon in the very sight of Lord Krishna, Satyaki began to drink, and others followed him. This stretch of sand abounded with performing mimes and dancers. I think the blare of trumpets especially heated everybody’s blood. Somehow, this time nobody thought to draw the Lords Satyaki and Kritavarman apart. I was forewarned by a sense of heaviness, some dark foreboding as I attended my Lord Krishna. He was very quiet. We watched some of the warriors mixing wine with the food that had been prepared for the Brahmins, and feeding it to the monkeys and apes that always play along the beach and wait for morsels. I could hardly hold myself back. ‘My Lord, …’ I said, but he did not even look at me. He surveyed it all from under hooded eyes. “He merely said: ‘Daruka, we have not left the evil that was in Kurukshetra behind. Perhaps in the perversity of this hour no pilgrimage can cleanse us.’ Lord Krishna called Lord Satyaki, the one he could always count on to do his bidding. But in the darkness and drunkenness of the hour Satyaki did not heed him,” Daruka went on more urgently. “We could see what was happening. They were moving to the edge of the abyss. Each one baited the other with old grievances and past adharmic actions. I did not hear what Lord Kritavarman said because I was distracted by a flight of inauspicious crows attracted by the deserted food. The next thing that I saw was Lord Satyaki pointing at Lord Kritavarman with his left hand. Then Kritavarman lifted his left foot and showed the sole to Lord Satyaki derisively. ‘Yes, Kritavarman,’ Lord Satyaki said, laughing as a Kshatriya must when he throws out a challenge. ‘Hear these words and answer,’ he taunted. ‘What kind of Kshatriya slays kinsmen in their sleep? Only the likes of you and that disease-ridden Ashwatthama, that walking graveyard… Killing a sleeping man is like killing a woman. Do you not know the Shastras, or was your head so thick that your weapons-master could not drum the code of honour into you?’ Kritavarman was slow, no match for Satyaki’s tongue. The others had to hold him back. ‘It is only jackals who creep in on men when they are sleeping. Come, show us how you and Ashwatthama crept on all fours.’ Lord Pradyumna burst out laughing. He had always admired Satyaki’s wit. Lord Pradyumna was holding Kritavarman tightly by his arms and shoulders, but once more Lord Kritavarman showed the sole of his foot. When I saw that insult, Prince Arjuna, I knew how it would be. A great fear fell on me. Lord Kritavarman spoke again. His voice cut like the talons of a striking eagle. ‘So now we are instructed by Satyaki, Acharya of the Shastras! And where in the Shastras did you learn to slay an unarmed warrior attempting to leave his body by the mode of yoga? Bhoorishravas, that noble soul, had quit the battle already.’”
Bhoorishravas was indeed a noble soul but he had killed Satyaki’s sons. As I sat listening beside my dying uncle I could not think of Dharma. I could only relive those moments when Kshatriya honour fell by the wayside and something deep and primal, before war codes were ever thought of, came to the fore. Sorrow, great revulsion, and despair poured into me. I could see men hurling insults at each other while the drunken apes and monkeys gorged with crows wheeling above them. What had we fought the war for? How must Krishna have felt? And yet even that anguish was as nothing to the spear lodged in my heart. Krishna was dead.
Daruka spoke on. “Then Lord Satyaki appealed to Lord Krishna, retelling the story of Kritavarman and the squabbles over Krishna’s Samantraka gem. Now Satyabhama had begun to weep and wail as she appealed to Krishna to do something. But already in a great rage, Lord Satyaki swore that Kritavarman would follow the five sons of Draupadi, deprived of a warrior’s heaven by being murdered in their sleep.
“Suddenly Lord Kritavarman had to be released for Lord Satyaki had drawn his sword. He drew his own weapon. Before we had time to understand, Lord Kritavarman’s head was rolling amongst liquor pots. Krishna ran to restrain Lord Satyaki, who in his rage was striking right and left at the Bhojas and the Andhakas. It was too late. They, impelled by Time and Kshatriya vengeance, surrounded Lord Satyaki. They struck at him with anything that came to hand. Lord Pradyumna also rushed in to help, but Satyaki was cudgelled by the Bhojas with their metal pots still full of food.
“Some things are beyond weeping, but I sickened seeing Satyaki’s end. The press of bodies around him was so thick that his arms were pinned to his sides and his sword fell to the ground.” He had died not like a warrior trained by a weapons master, but like a Shudra at the hands of cudgel-wielding rabble. Daruka’s tale had still more horrors in it: Satyaki’s brains had spilled out like those of Abhimanyu when Jayadratha and Kritavarman, Karna and others kicked him as he lay upon the ground. Satyaki! I hid my face inside my hands. Abhimanyu, son of my seed. Satyaki, son of my spirit.
Daruka put a hand upon my shoulder and continued, “Lord Krishna took up a bolt of iron and kept away those who had surrounded his son and Lord Satyaki, but he could not stop the melée, so he stood back and watched.”
I looked up at Daruka. “And then?” But I could not hurry him.
“All the others except Lord Balarama, maddened by drink and impelled by the hour of destruction, fell upon each other like insects rushing into a lamp. Lord Krishna kept me by him or I might have rushed in too. Shiva was there in his Rudra aspect sowing death and violence. Those who had been serving food and wine joined in, hurling insults. Remembering long forgotten griefs, sons killed their sires, and sires killed their sons. Their hearts and minds were on fire, and in their bloodlust they cared not who was kin.”
At last Aunt Gandhari’s curse had rolled out like a ball of lightning, igniting sparks here and there before bursting into deadly flame. Krishna’s kinsmen, she had said, would slay each other in a drunken brawl. I heard her hiss her curse again, ‘Krissshna—Krissshna.’
“There was neither honour nor glory here, and so Lord Krishn
a walked away from it.” With this Daruka ended and could speak no longer. We sat in silence.
A sudden crashing made me look out of the window. Great rushing waves galloped towards the shore to dash against the chariot way’s guardwall below. Beyond the wall, boats reared and seemed to hang on air. Waves flicked this way or that like snakes. This I had never seen. I had always lived in land-locked country and knew little of the sea’s ways, but I could feel Varuna’s anger. Suddenly the sea raced back with sucking noises as though recoiling from this cursed town. A new stretch of beach now lay exposed with stranded boats scattered across it. I raised my brows at Daruka.
“I too have never seen it so,” he said.
With a silent prayer to Lord Varuna that he would let me finish my mission before swallowing Dwaraka, I gestured to Daruka to continue. He sighed and wiped his face with his angavastra, tried to speak, and sighed deeply once again. Then closing his eyes, he said in a slow and heavy voice, “We turned and went in search of Lord Balarama who was sitting by himself with his back against a tree. He was in yogic meditation. He must have been there for some time for his silence was like a physical barrier and our feet could not go on. Suddenly, out of his mouth issued a mighty snake of whitish light that slowly drifted towards the ocean where Lord Varuna waited for him.
After Lord Krishna had seen his brother leave his body, he went into the forest. He knew that it was time for him. He embraced me many times and thanked me for my service. For a long time I prostrated before him with my arms outstretched, my tears moistening the earth. He stroked my head and bade me rise and listen. That is when he told me to come and meet you on this day. He said that you would come to lead the refuge seekers from the city before its end. He bade me go with speed. I have never disobeyed my master, but I lingered. His eyes were closed. Prince Arjuna, I had been with him so long and sometimes I had seen his glory, but only then did he lay aside his mantle of humanity. And then a hunter mistook Krishna’s golden cloth for a deer. At that moment I, most fortunate of men to have lived beside my Lord, became bereft of my whole world.
The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata Page 87