The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata

by Maggi Lidchi Grassi

  It was dusk and an evening prayer was being murmured near my ear.

  We meditate upon the glorious splendour

  Of the Vivifier divine.

  May he illumine our minds.

  I pushed myself onto my elbow and turned my head. A young man from the ashram was kneeling by my side. Island-born Greatfather had sent him for me with fruit and milk. I had thought that I would never eat again, but the prayer and the hand upon my shoulder roused me to my hunger. I washed my face and hands and broke my fast with the sweet berries he offered me. I sipped a little milk in silence, thinking that indeed the warrior in me was dead. This boy had crept up on me as nobody had done since Dronacharya had taught us the warriors’ sleep.

  “You do not like the milk, Prince Arjuna?” I started. Without knowing it, I had been shaking my head. How was I to explain that it was Arjuna I did not like, and not the milk? I finished the milk and handed back the empty pot. That would have to do as answer. I was past courtesies.

  Night was upon us. Another Brahmachari came towards us with a lamp and a third said softly, “Prince Arjuna. I will see to the horses.” They spoke as to a sick man. When we reached the ashram, they were chanting hymns to drive away the evil humours.

  Inside his hut, Island-born Greatfather sat behind three flickering lamps. As I stepped in and waited, his eyes opened. Then he beckoned to me. Coming nearer, I stretched myself out on the ground in full prostration and felt his hands cradle my head. I did not want to move. I lay there for a long time with my forehead on the beaten floor. He did not bid me rise. At last I heard his voice, full of kindness.

  “Come, my child, let me see your face.” I put my forehead on his feet and then got up and sat before him.

  I searched his face. “Island-born Greatfather, tell me what to do.” His eyes were all compassion but a tiny smile tried to take the corners of his eyes. “Krishna was always there to tell me,” I stuttered. And again my tears flowed heavily. When I took a deep breath Island-born Greatfather said, “My child, you have spoken the answer. Krishna was always there to tell you what to do. If he does not tread the earth, perhaps there is nothing more for you to do.” I needed air. Greatfather spoke on. “You would tell me that Krishna said action is always better than inaction. But Arjuna, you came in order to fulfill his action and you have done it well.”

  “Greatfather…Greatfather…” He held up his hand to stop my stumbling words.

  “You will say you could not save the ladies. You will say that under your rule more Kshatriyas were killed. You will say many things. That is the way of men. But Arjuna, do you forget what Krishna showed you? When the plunderers descended, each and every man and woman was exactly where he should have been. You may be the greatest warrior, but you are also a man. A greater energy exists than ours. The winds, fire, and water move by its direction. Krishna came to wipe out arrogance and violence. Yet the simple people he had led out of Mathura into Dwaraka became proud and violent. Even his own people he could not save. Kala had come for them.” I knew what he would say now. It was a great pain and a great release. “He did not save himself. His work was done. Kala had come for him and shot the arrow into Krishna’s foot. Your work is done, Arjuna. Your work is done.

  “Once, when we went to fetch the riches for the sacrifice and you wished you could stay in the mountain, I promised I would tell you when the time had come for you to take your leave of Hastina and go there. Do you not remember? The time has come. Go to the mountains. Go to the high mountains that you love. There you will be whole again. You will become whole because you will be living every day as if it is your last. And it will be no pretence. Every day will be your last. In the high mountains, one lives in the now.” He gave a happy laugh that wandered like a breeze on the high flower meadows of his beloved northern mountains. “Life will move for you again. Life will move. Kala will come for you. Your work is done and you have done it well.” His words were a pardon that washed my sins from me. I had been wandering bereft, despoiled of everything. This would lead me back to Krishna.

  Island-born Greatfather was still speaking. “Krishna, having lightened the burden of the earth and cast off his body, has attained to his own high seat. His work was done by you, O Scorcher-of-foes, with the help of Bheema and the twins. The great work of the Gods has been accomplished. Do not speak of failure. Do not even think it. In the eyes of the Gods, you and your brothers are wearing crowns of victory. You forget the hymn:

  Om is the bow and the soul is the arrow, and That,

  The Brahman himself,

  Is spoken of as the Target.

  Arjuna, you forget. You forgot that the target never was the enemy. The only target has ever been, and still is, That. ‘He who knows the delight of the Eternal, shall fear nought now or hereafter.’”

  Delight? There was still room for this word in the Universe?

  “Have you forgotten what Krishna showed you on that first day of the battle? Was it not supremely above all honour and glory, battle fame and prowess, as we know it here? You gaze at me. Answer me, Arjuna. Did you not taste then that the universe is delight?” I moved my head in assent.

  “The Pandavas have accomplished the great purpose of their lives. The time has come for your departure. You too must relieve the earth of your burden.”

  I was not smiling, but I felt the muscles of my face become less stiff. My jaws were no longer clenched. I saw our shadows thrown upon the wall by the wavering flames of the butter lamps. Mine was still a warrior’s figure. You cannot change the way that Dronacharya taught you to sit, nor the way you hold your head in grief or despair. Yet sitting in front of the old sage, father of my father, I was being given an initiation. It was not for vanaprastha. It was something more immediate. Without knowing what it was I began to long for it. On the wall Greatfather’s shape leaned forward.

  “How shall it be done, Greatfather?” The shadow of his hand moved along the wall, the shadow of his forefinger slanted on the ceiling. I looked back at the substance of the shadow. His hand was high above his head and he was pointing northeast. He raised his eyebrows in the expression of an adult who knows he has given a child exactly what he wants.

  I dared to breathe the words: “The Abode of Snow.” He nodded. I had not known my wish until he gave it to me and showed me what it was.

  “All of you,” said Greatfather, spreading his arms. His shadow on the wall looked like some great bird with sheltering wings.

  All his life, Eldest had been yoked to Dharma and we had pulled the chariot with him. What if now, I went to Hastina and Eldest said that there was work to do still?

  “Arjuna, he will not. There is a time for action. There is a time for inaction. When the warriors poured their blood as a libation in the battle, that was the time for action. There are times when it is Dharma to administer and pass judgement, to defend your boundaries and even to extend them, to slay enemies, to avenge the death of kinsmen. But there is also a time for leaving that.” And here his voice began to chant. “I tell you again, like Krishna, there is action in inaction and also inaction when you act. When you rest, everything in you is working still, and when you work there is a place in you that rests and is wholly still. It is there now and was never otherwise, not even in your deepest misery. There is a time to be born, and there is a time to die, and there is a time to return to birth.” He waited and closed his eyes. “There is a time to take and there is a time to give back.” There was a tiny waver in his voice, and could that be moisture on the eyelashes of Island-born Greatfather, best of the Munis? He began talking of Shuka, and in this initiation for the great departure, my heart turned to Abhimanyu. We were not sage-greatfather and warrior-child any more. The two shadows on the wall, were fathers in equal measure. Nothing could have made me understand more clearly that time indeed was the seed of the universe, and that surrender was the supreme astra.

  Island-born Greatfather spoke on. “The farmer will tell you there is a right season for the planting of his grain, whi
ch is not the same as the season of reaping, and who are we to choose? We may pour a hundred pots of water on yonder tree but only in its time will the tree flower and fruit.” He opened his eyes wide and there was the merest hint of the old twinkle. “Now is your time for wisdom and understanding Arjuna. It comes when the days of success have been outrun. Arjuna, I tell you, as there is action in inaction, and stillness in action, so is there failure in success and success in failure. Do you think there ever was a man who never failed? Beware, for such are the Shakunis of this world. Krishna himself was defeated as soon as he was born. He could not stay within his mother’s love.” I had never seen it thus. “He was forced to run from Mathura. That was the beginning of the success which was Dwaraka. And you, Arjuna, Oh! I see light coming to your eyes. Is it because I speak of Krishna? One should be full of life when leaving for the unknown journey, because then you have something to offer. Your spirit will live on and will be sung about by bards for a thousand years.” I smiled ruefully. “There are no more Kshatriyas, Greatfather.” And I thought, there will be no bards to sing of them, or of my shame.

  “I am here,” said Greatfather, who understood my thoughts. He made a show of indignation and struck a pose, folding his arms across his chest, wrinkling his eyelids. As I looked at him I could see the core of something there that would outlive us all. Amazement worked in me. “Island-born Greatfather, would you really leave your Veda sorting to sing about your grandsons?”

  “I can win fame and glory by holding on to your angavastras.”

  “Eldest’s angavastra. He is Dharmaraj. Bards have to sing of kings, the mighty deeds of kings.”

  “Arjuna, do not teach me my calling, even before I have been called.”

  I would have liked to ask what he intended to say. I had always wanted the glory of Krishna’s love for me, and mine for him, to be known above my deeds as a warrior.

  Inspired, Greatfather threw his head back. “I shall talk about the Pandavas and Krishna.” The five sons of my second son, who died in the forest by a Rishi’s curse. I shall speak of Yudhishthira and his love of Dharma, and of Bheema and his appetite, almost as great as his strength and his child’s good heart, and of those handsome twins, gifted and swift as the Ashwins. I shall speak of everyone, mothers, fathers, greatfathers and greatmothers, down to great-grandsons, but above all…” He paused. “…it will be the story of Krishna and Arjuna. That is what people will remember. That is what will stir their hearts. What will I say about Arjuna? He was the wielder of Gandiva. He was the protector of the weak and helpless. He was the noble one. Krishna called him Fearless, the Undefeated, Scorcher-offoes, the Noble and Compassionate. When warriors heard his Devadatta, they quailed.” He gave a sly look. And he was the favourite of all the ladies and the most loved by fire-born Draupadi.”

  “Had he no faults?” I asked.

  “I was just coming to that, so it is well you ask. Indeed no man should remove his burden from the earth without that taste of bitterness, as in a complete meal where you have tasted all the flavours. The bitter of the gourd is most important for digestion. Arjuna, Arjuna, do you really not see? Arjuna was such a bowman that in the end it was his archer’s skill that had to fail. Undefeated till then, he had to taste defeat—but that is not really of much matter… Arjuna’s story is something else. It is about being the friend of Krishna, Arjuna the Noble One, the compassionate one. His failure is of no consequence. Perhaps only those who have once failed are truly to be trusted. After all, it was the Pandavas who won the war. You won it. You and Krishna together.”

  I understood that Greatfather’s words were advice for my next life. Already I could see myself on my last pilgrimage. When I had climbed the mountains for the celestial weapons, I had seen the sabhas gleaming far below like toys, the strife of kings like a chessboard, the love of women like dreams. Now I again saw the pine trees and smelt the fresh highmountain air. I was already on my way, shedding the deaths, the corpses and cremations, as well as the coronations; shedding the memories of defeat, as I imagined myself looking down into a valley with a river far down rushing over stones; shedding the memories of victory and listening to the quiet breathing of the trees and plants. Let Greatfather sing the story to our great-grandsons. As he had said, it was all of little consequence. We had come to do something and we had done it. At the end my arm had failed, but I was still Krishna’s most beloved friend.

  Island-born Greatfather brought me back. He had been gazing at me and no doubt knew that I was already climbing our beloved mountains. “Arjuna, there are few who can understand what Krishna did. Before I send you with my last blessings…” He paused. “I must tell you.” This time he too was looking at our shadows on the wall. “Without you, he could not have done any of it. On that first day of battle, the earth and Krishna’s mission, hung in the balance. He had killed two tyrant kings and their supporter Shishupala but the demon that was in them stalked the world in the form of Duryodhana. However, the demon was now in disguise and had adopted a subtler form. Duryodhana did not offer human sacrifice. He did not incarcerate his father or kill the new-born nephews that he feared might threaten him one day, though he did try to poison Bheema and burn you in the Palace of Lac. Duryodhana had the son of darkness, Shakuni, behind him. It was the spirit of Shakuni that ruled the land in the guise of Dharma. It is this rotten Dharma that you fought against. Its subtle evil was drawing the earth towards a dark abyss. If a hollow Dharma had persuaded you that kinsmen must not be shot and killed, Krishna’s mission must certainly have failed. The other side had the akshauhinis. Krishna had you. I saw then how the world was teetering. You cannot know the horror of it. Not all the mantras of the sages would have prevented it without your bowarm, Noble One. Only Krishna knew that. What is more, you fought with chivalry. Powers of darkness need their human weapons on this earth, the Shakunis and Duryodhanas, but so do those of Light. Krishna and you for eighteen days cleared the way for Light. Did Krishna never tell you?”

  The things that Krishna said came back to me. He had. The ears of my understanding had been sealed. Now I saw it. I could even see why Dwaraka had had to lie under the waves.

  This was Greatfather’s blessing to me. I closed my eyes. He was talking once again. I heard him as from afar, as though already from a mountain top. My ears were failing, my limbs were numb and yet I heard him. “You ask me what I will say, Arjuna. I shall speak of everything that led up to the war, the dice game, and even farther back, about Mother Kunti’s service to Durvasa and the birth of Karna. I shall speak of each of the eighteen days of war, of the heroism of the warriors, and of how, out of love for you, Uttarakumara gave his life on the first day. For you inspire love, Arjuna. It is your special grace.” Greatfather fell silent. I thought he would go no further. I opened my eyes and saw him gazing on my face intently and with such enormous love that it penetrated my sorrow and slowly, very slowly, melted something that had hardened around my heart.

  “It is the Gods’ gift to you, Arjuna my child. And now I will reveal to you what won the war. You thought it was your bowarm and the astras which, out of love and trust, Dronacharya had given you. They did their work. But where did it all spring from, Arjuna?” He raised his brows, producing deep wrinkles across his forehead, and waited for my answer. He nodded encouragingly, like a tutor waiting for the light of understanding to dawn in his pupil’s eyes. “You do not know, Arjuna. And that too is a Grace. But I shall tell you now. You light the lamp of love in those who know you.” He nodded. “Yes, because of who you are, because of what you are.” His strong voice softened and I saw how much he too loved me. “Who was it that Greatfather Bheeshma asked to bring water, when he lay on arrows? Come, answer me Arjuna. There are five Pandavas, yet everybody knows who holds the heart of Draupadi. Not even Duryodhana could hate you.” My thought flew now to Karna, as though preparing for what Greatfather would say next. “Between Karna and you, there was the greatest love of all. You each wanted to be the other.” Yes, I had known that in
my heart, without letting it climb into my mind. Island-born Greatfather now drew the veils aside. I had had the love of Dronacharya, Greatfather Bheeshma, Draupadi, and this old sage who showed me where my life lay. “And Ashwatthama. You were his father’s favourite, yet he could only love you, and glory in your friendship.

  I will speak of everything, your exile in the forest, that time Duryodhana and Karna came to mock you; the tales the sages told to comfort you, the year you spent in disguise at the court of Kampala and how you so won the heart of King Virata that he offered you his favourite daughter. There were five of you. Yet he did not offer her to Eldest, who would soon rule the land.” I had never given much thought to that.

  “You see, Arjuna, you thought your greatest gift was archery, when it was love. There is no greater gift than to be able to kindle love, especially if you do it unwittingly. I know that most of what I tell of you will be forgotten. In days to come, people will not speak of your great battles, of your victories at Kurukshetra, of how you killed Supratika. Only this one thing about you will surely survive and spread like a great sun over the countries of mankind, warming their hearts, lifting their spirits, driving them towards a higher and more noble life. People will hardly remember Eldest, that righteous king, or good-hearted Bheema, that wielder of tree trunks, still less the grace, beauty and knowledge of the twins. They will remember what is greater than righteousness and more powerful than strength; what drowns out grace and beauty and is the very kernel of all true knowledge— love. And the love that you kindled in your cousin Krishna, brought all the higher worlds nearer to earth. On that first day of battle, something touched the heart and mind of man, that has changed his destiny. There is no turning back from it. So do not begrudge the sacrifice, the lives of Satyaki and even Krishna, Dwaraka, the City of Many Gates, the lives of Abhimanyu and Uttarakumara; it was all part of it. Man is not through with wars. But what was given to earth on that day will not be taken back. Its light will grow and grow, till men grow beyond themselves. Everything else may be forgotten and pass away, but not what passed between Krishna and Arjuna on that first morning before the dust of battle rose.”