The Puffin Mahabharata

by Namita Gokhale

  Jarasandha was not only a brave wrestler but also a dedicated ruler. Although he was quite sure that he would defeat Bhima, he decided to crown his son Sahadeva king so that the kingdom would be safe even if something were to happen to him.

  The two opponents, Bhima and Jarasandha, sized each other up before the fight began. Both giants were equally matched in brawn and muscle. Bhima leapt at Jarasandha, who flung him off with ease. They continued their combat relentlessly, not caring if it were day or night. Krishna and Arjuna watched intently, as did a frightened band of courtiers.

  Bhima and Jarasandha fought tooth and nail for fourteen days and nights. Gradually Bhima, who was the younger of the two, began to gain the upper hand. As Jarasandha began to tire, his wily opponent threw him in the air, whirled him around a hundred times and dashed him back to the ground. Then Bhima caught hold of him again and pulled fiercely at his legs, until he had completely ripped Jarasandha apart. Krishna and Arjuna looked on in amazement as the king lay split into two from the middle. Their amazement was only compounded when the two halves seemed to be magically pulled back towards each other, and blood and skin and muscle fused back into a single living breathing whole! The courtiers’ tears turned to joy to see their invincible king recover in this miraculous fashion.

  Krishna plucked a leaf from a nearby tree. Gaining Bhima’s attention, he tore the leaf into two and flung the pieces in opposite directions. Bhima understood immediately what Krishna was telling him. Summoning all the strength at his command, he fell at Jarasandha once more. He took the mighty king in his arms and flung him high into the air. As Jarasandha tumbled down to earth, Bhima took hold of his legs and tore him apart. Then he flung the two halves of Jarasandha’s dismembered body as far apart from each other as he possibly could. The two halves flailed about vainly for a while before collapsing. The great king Jarasandha, strongest of the strong, was dead.

  While his courtiers and subjects wept, the kings whom Jarasandha had imprisoned were overjoyed at being released. They thanked Krishna and the Pandavas for saving their lives, and promised to come to Indraprastha to attend the Rajasuya yagna in Yudhishthira’s honour.

  The Pandavas and Krishna went to meet the new king of Magadha, Jarasandha’s son Sahadeva, to pay their respects. Krishna took Sahadeva’s right hand in his. ‘As a son, you must hate me for killing your father,’ he said. ‘You should understand that I did it because justice had to be done. You must now rule the kingdom of Magadha with honour and courage. If you feel it appropriate, please come to the Rajasuya yagna in our capital.’

  Sahadeva was moved by Krishna’s humility and promised to visit Indraprastha.

  At the Yagna

  After their return, the Pandava brothers were sent off in different directions. Arjuna was dispatched to the north, Bhima to the east, Nakula to the western countries and Sahadeva to the south of Bharatvarsha. Everywhere they went they were honoured as emissaries of Yudhishthira. Wherever they found resistance in battle, they defeated their opponents easily with their undisputed excellence in arms.

  At last, the day of the Rajasuya dawned. There was an air of festivity and rejoicing throughout Indraprastha. Yudhishthira was formally crowned as the king of kings, the Rajasuya. After the coronation was over, the guests had to be honoured in order of their importance.

  Yudhishthira was in a quandary. Who should he honour first? He looked around at the assembly of kings, bewildered by the greatness and grandeur of his guests. There was Drupad, Draupadi’s father. Beside him was seated the aged king Vasudeva, father of Krishna and Balarama. There were other rulers of mighty kingdoms from the length and breadth of Bharatvarsha. There was the revered Dronacharya, and their respected teacher Kripa with his son Ashwathama. Perplexed, Yudhishthira asked his grand-uncle Bhishma who it was he should honour first.

  The patriarch considered Yudhishthira’s question with care. His eyes turned to the radiant figure of Lord Krishna. ‘There is your most honoured guest,’ he said. ‘Krishna has guided you on the path to success and glory. It is to him that you must first pay your respects.’

  Sahadeva, the youngest of the Pandavas, came forward to wash Krishna’s feet with milk and rose water. The Pandavas’ hearts swelled with joy and pride, while Queen Kunti and Draupadi and Subhadra watched approvingly.

  But life is never simple. Some of the kings in the assembly did not approve of Bhishma’s choice of the guest of honour. Sisupala, king of Chedi, was especially annoyed. He rose to his feet and angrily protested at the respect being shown to Krishna. ‘Who is this Krishna?’ he spat. ‘There are surely many greater kings present here than this lowly cowherd from Mathura! I will not accept this insult to the rest of us. Before this assembly of nobles, I challenge Krishna to a duel.’

  Bhima was outraged at Sisupala’s audacity, and was about to silence him with a blow, but Bhishma restrained him. ‘Do not be in such a hurry, Bhima,’ Bhishma counselled. ‘It has already been ordained by the gods that Sisupala shall meet his death at Krishna’s hands alone. The ways of fate are strange and mysterious, and the mightiest of us must succumb to them!’

  And so the assembly of kings, which just some moments ago had been full of joy and rejoicing, grew loud with the clang of weapons and the shouting of angry words.

  It had long been predicted by soothsayers and holy men that Sisupala would meet his death at Lord Krishna’s hands. Sisupala’s mother was the sister of King Vasudeva, Krishna’s father. When, many years ago, she first heard of the prophecy, she begged her nephew Krishna to spare her son’s life.

  ‘I will try my best not to hurt him,’ Krishna had replied. ‘I will forgive your son a hundred insults, if need be, rather than get drawn into battle with him.’ By now the hundred insults he had promised to overlook had long been exhausted. As a warrior, Krishna had no option save to accept Sisupala’s public challenge.

  The battle between Krishna and Sisupala began in earnest. The kings and nobles watched uneasily. They were all stunned by this turn of events. The immortals, however, were not surprised. Narada, Bhishma and Vyasa had from the beginning carried a premonition of the turn of events to come. As prophesied, Sisupala died at Krishna’s hands.

  Yudhishthira, at heart a peace-loving man, was deeply disturbed by what had happened. Somehow, the day wound to a close. The kings left, among mutterings of anger and discontent. Krishna too returned to Dwarka.

  All the guests had departed except Duryodhana and Dusasana, their uncle Sakuni, and Karna. The Kauravas and their friends had stayed on to witness first-hand the fabled splendours of the Pandavas’ palace, the Mayasabha.

  Duryodhana Visits the Mayasabha

  Yudhishthira was glad his cousins had decided to stay on. He and the other Pandavas did their best to see to their guests’ comfort. But the Kauravas were consumed by hate and jealousy, and there was very little the Pandavas could do about that.

  The asura Maya had built a wondrous and magical palace, where nothing was quite as it appeared to be. What seemed to be a shimmering lake could turn out to be a cunningly designed sheet of marble. A colonnaded doorway would on closer examination reveal itself as a painted mural. These illusions had been created to please and amuse the royal family. Duryodhana had heard of this and was determined not to be taken in.

  When Duryodhana entered the main hall, he saw what looked like a shallow indoor pool. Upon closer examination, he decided it was actually an expanse of highly polished marble. He smiled and walked confidently across the hall, only to slip and fall with a splash. He was wet all over, and his fine garments were completely drenched. Only then and many of the courtiers turned their faces away to hide their amused smiles; all except Draupadi. The haughty queen of the Pandavas laughed disdainfully at his discomfiture, as Yudhishthira rushed to get him into dry clothes. Proud Duryodhana was angered and humiliated beyond belief. Even as he smiled and tried to look unconcerned, Draupadi’s mocking laughter echoed in his ears.

  It is sometimes easier to forgive the big things rather
than the small ones. After he returned to Hastinapura, Duryodhana swore to avenge the humiliation heaped upon him and to revenge himself on the Pandavas, especially Draupadi.

  His cunning and manipulative uncle Sakuni was ready with a plan. ‘We will defeat your cousins without battle,’ he whispered. ‘Bloodshed is not always necessary for victory. That silly Yudhishthira fancies himself as a great gambler. He loves to play games of chance, though he is invariably the loser. We shall invite him to a game of chance, and I shall see that he loses everything—his wealth, his kingdom and even his wife, that t Draupadi.’

  Sakuni’s idea appealed enormously to Duryodhana. He consulted with his father, the blind king Dhritarashtra, and persuaded him to agree to the plan. Dhritarashtra instructed his architects to build a beautiful hall, to rival the palace built by the Pandavas. Then he requested Vidura to go to Indraprastha to invite the unsuspecting Yudhishthira to come and spend some time with him in Hastinapura.

  The Pandavas and Kunti were all highly suspicious of the invitation. ‘Nothing is ever as it seems with these Kauravas,’ Kunti exclaimed. ‘Why has Dhritarashtra invited Yudhishthira to his kingdom?’

  ‘They want to spend time with him, gambling and playing dice,’ Vidura volunteered. ‘I personally disapprove of gambling and any games of chance. If I were Yudhishthira, I would be very cautious in accepting this invitation. Yet the king has commanded him to come.’

  Yudhishthira was too noble and well brought up to openly refuse his father’s brother. ‘I must go,’ he sighed. ‘I will accompany you, Uncle, to that hated city of Hastinapura. And you shall all come with me.’

  And so Kunti, Draupadi and the four Pandavas accompanied Vidura and Yudhishthira back to their cousin’s capital.

  The Game of Dice

  The Pandavas arrived in Hastinapura on the night of the full moon. They left their mother and Draupadi in the palace quarters of the Kuru women, and went to the assembly rooms of the new palace, the Jayantasabha.

  Karna was there already, as were Bhishma, Dronacharya, Vidura and all the Kaurava brothers. The square dice-cloth was laid out on the marble floor, and by it Sakuni and Duryodhana reclined on embroidered silk cushions. Sakuni’s blue eyes glimmered with strange excitement and a malicious smile played about his lips.

  ‘Come, cousin, let us play a game of dice,’ Duryodhana said jovially. ‘Let us see if fortune favours you or me in a game of chance.’

  Sakuni began rolling the dice. ‘The highest number wins,’ he said, kissing the ivory dice as he spoke. ‘I will play for my nephew, staking his wealth against yours.’

  ‘I shall stake all the pearls in my treasury,’ Yudhishthira announced.

  ‘I stake the same,’ Sakuni responded, shaking the dice deftly before he threw them on the dice-cloth. A sly smile of satisfaction arrived across his thin lips. ‘I have won.’

  ‘All the gold in my treasury,’ said Yudhishthira, hoping to lure the goddess of good luck with his large-heartedness.

  The dice rolled.

  ‘I have won again!’ exclaimed Sakuni.

  Once again the dice were rolled, this time for all the gems in the coffers at Indraprastha.

  ‘I have won again,’ Sakuni exulted.

  Yudhishthira knew that he was on a losing streak, but he was too caught up in the excitement of the game to stop. The sounds of Sakuni’s voice declaring ‘I have won’ became a monotonous refrain that kept echoing through the magnificent chamber. Yudhishthira lost his chariots, his horses, his elephants, his army, his granary and even his slaves. Finally, there was nothing left to lose.

  ‘What will you stake now, King Yudhishthira?’ Sakuni mocked.

  As Sakuni kept goading him on and on, Yudhishthira became more and more reckless.

  The fever of gambling had entered Yudhishthira’s blood, making him impervious to reason or good sense. ‘I stake my handsome brother Nakula,’ he said.

  ‘I have won,’ declared Sakuni.

  ‘My brother Sahadeva!’

  ‘I win again.’

  Yudhishthira was wrestling with his conscience. He knew he was doing the wrong thing, and yet he could not stop.

  Sakuni sensed his indecision. ‘You are quick to stake your step-brothers, the sons of Madri,’ he said scornfully. ‘Why do you hesitate when it comes to your blood brothers?’

  ‘Arjuna is my greatest wealth, and I stake him!’ exclaimed Yudhishthira.

  ‘I win again,’ said Sakuni, kissing the dice in gratitude.

  ‘I wager Bhima!’

  ‘I have won him,’ exulted Sakuni.

  ‘I stake myself against my four brothers,’ cried Yudhishthira.

  ‘I have won again,’ said Sakuni. ‘What now?’

  ‘I must stake my wife Draupadi,’ said Yudhishthira, a note of utter desperation in his voice.

  ‘I win again! Draupadi belongs to the Kauravas!’

  There was dead silence in the hall. Everyone was horror-struck. No one knew what might happen next. Only Dhritarashtra could be heard, muttering excitedly, ‘Who has won the wager? Is it my Duryodhana?’

  Duryodhana turned triumphantly to Vidura. ‘Draupadi is now our slave!’ he declared. ‘Pray bring her to the assembly to stand before us.’

  ‘I will not do as you say,’ replied Vidura. ‘Yudhishthira had no right to stake her when he had already lost himself in the wager!’

  Nonetheless, a servant was sent to the women’s quarters to summon Draupadi. ‘Your husband Yudhishthira has gambled you away to the Kauravas,’ the servant told her, a look of pity and compassion in his eyes.

  ‘Has he lost his senses? How can he gamble me away?’ Draupadi asked.

  ‘It is so,’ said the servant. ‘First he lost all his treasure, then his brothers, then himself, until finally he lost you at the game of dice.’

  Tired of waiting, Dusasana came storming in to take Draupadi back to the chamber by force. He grabbed her by her long black hair and pulled and dragged her behind him to the gathered assembly.

  Draupadi was a proud woman. She could not be humbled so easily. Her eyes flashed fire as she shook loose her hair and angrily accosted the gathered men. ‘Honoured elders,’ she said, ‘I just want to ask one question. If my husband had already lost himself, how then could he stake me in the game of dice?’ She looked around her, trying to keep calm, to appeal to the better instincts of the roomful of men. ‘Am I a slave of my husband, or am I free? Tell me this, grandfather Bhishma, wisest of the wise.’

  Bhishma shifted uncomfortably in his chair, more than a little disturbed by Draupadi’s question. In his eyes, women were the possessions of their menfolk, to be protected by their fathers, husbands and sons. ‘Although a man cannot gamble something that does not belong to him, yet a man maintains a right over his wife,’ he said finally. ‘He can call her his property even after he has lost himself.’

  Not all the Kaurava brothers were as evil and hard-hearted as Duryodhana or Dusasana. One of the younger Kauravas, Vikarna, was deeply moved by Draupadi’s plight. He stood up to speak in her defence. ‘I protest,’ he said. ‘Yudhishthira had no right to stake Draupadi and gamble her away, for she is married not only to him but to his brothers as well. He did not seek the consent of the other Pandavas before wagering her.’

  The entire assembly was silenced by Vikarna’s fair-minded and logical observation. But Dusasana was getting impatient of all the arguments. He grabbed hold of the end of Draupadi’s sari and began pulling at it, with the intention of disrobing her and leaving her naked in the assembly hall.

  Draupadi looked around her, horrified, but no one came to her aid. No one would meet her eyes. She could not believe that this injustice was being done to her. ‘I shall pray to Krishna,’ she resolved. ‘He is the protector of the weak, and the last refuge of the helpless. Save me, Krishna, wherever you are!’

  Krishna, though he was not there in the Kauravas’ palace, heard Draupadi’s prayer. As the Pandava queen stood before the assembly, her eyes shut and her palms folded in
prayer, the length of her silken garments magically grew and grew and grew. The more the astonished Dusasana tugged and pulled, the greater the length of multi-hued silken cloth that heaped up in a mountain of colour before him.

  Everyone in the hall—the Pandavas, the Kauravas and the assembled courtiers—knew that they were witnessing a miracle. The gods and immortals were clearly siding with Draupadi, who had been so cruelly wronged by Duryodhana and his brother. The evil Dusasana finally fell to the ground in an exhausted heap, surrounded by miles and miles of shimmering silk.

  Bhima could no longer control himself. The strange situation had forced him, the strongest man in the world, to watch helplessly as his beloved Draupadi was insulted in public. His loud voice rang through the hall, echoing with determination and the shadow of future deaths. ‘Hear me,’ he announced. ‘I declare today that I shall kill the proud Duryodhana, as my brother Arjuna shall kill Karna. As for Sakuni, he shall be killed by Sahadeva. After I have killed Duryodhana with my mace, I shall place my foot on his bleeding head. And then I shall drink the blood from the heart of this cowardly Dusasana, who attacks the women whom he, as a Kuru, should be protecting.’

  Arjuna walked to the centre of the hall. ‘No one has ever escaped the wrath of Bhima,’ he said. ‘The earth shall drink the blood of these four: Duryodhana, Dusasana, Sakuni and Karna. I will kill everyone who is foolish enough to support them.’

  Now it was the turn of Sahadeva. ‘Remember Sakuni, with the dice you rolled today and gloated over, you have strung the bow of the swift, sure arrows that spell out your death. I shall destroy you and all your kinsmen,’ he vowed.

  Nakula came forward. ‘I stand by all that my brothers said,’ he declared. ‘I shall kill Uluka, the son of Sakuni, and ensure that his line is destroyed forever.’