The Puffin Mahabharata

by Namita Gokhale

  ‘Let him go,’ said Yudhishthira, with his characteristic patience. ‘He is our brother-in-law, the husband of our sister Dushala. It would be wrong to hurt him.’

  But this time Bhima wouldn’t listen. ‘He has dared to abduct my Draupadi,’ he roared and cut off Jayadratha’s mane of curly hair with his sword. ‘Return to your court and explain who did this to you and why,’ he screamed, as his brothers tried to pull him back.

  Sometimes pride makes a person detest those who have forgiven him. Jayadratha, like Duryodhana before him, was offended at the Pandavas’ generosity rather than grateful for their forbearance. He was too ashamed to return either to Hastinapura or his own kingdom, and sat for a long time in the forest, praying to Lord Shiva. At last, Shiva appeared before him.

  ‘I want to defeat the Pandavas in war,’ Jayadratha pleaded of Shiva. ‘Please grant me the strength and means to kill them all.’

  Now Shiva never refuses his devotees what they ask of him, but this time he was forced to modify his boon. ‘It is impossible to grant you this boon,’ he said. ‘The Pandavas are invincible in warfare. They are protected by Lord Krishna, who is an incarnation of Vishnu. If, however, you encounter the Pandavas without Krishna or Arjuna to protect them, you will, for that brief moment, be able to defy them.’

  The Lake of Questions

  Once when the Pandavas were walking through the forest, a poor Brahmin came rushing to seek their help. A deer had stolen the arani, the fire-stick with which he lit the ritual fire. It is the duty of warriors to protect priests and holy men, and so the Pandavas went off in search of the deer. They roamed the forests for many hours until they were hot and tired and their throats were parched.

  Nakula clambered up a nearby tree. ‘I can see a lake not far away,’ he said. ‘I shall go and get us some water.’

  A very long time passed, but Nakula did not return. Sahadeva went in search of his brother, but he did not come back either. Yudhishthira was worried and sent Bhima to look for them. When Bhima too failed to return, Yudhishthira sent Arjuna to find out what had happened. After waiting anxiously for a while, Yudhishthira set off after his brothers.

  The forest was unnaturally still. Not a leaf stirred. There were no cries of flying birds, nor sounds of any beasts bounding. The crystal clear waters of the lake lapped at the shore. The bodies of the four Pandavas lay lifeless by the water. Arjuna was sprawled on the ground with the Gandiva bow beside him, arrows spilled over the sand. Nakula and Sahadeva lay as though asleep. There were no signs of injury on their bodies, but no signs of life either. Bhima’s mighty form had fallen beside them, still as death.

  Yudhishthira was shocked and terrified. He could not imagine what could possibly have gone wrong. Who or what could have killed his invincible brothers? ‘All my hopes lie dead,’ he lamented. ‘How shall I ever face Draupadi?’ His throat choked with unshed tears, Yudhishthira walked towards the lake to take a sip of water.

  ‘Do not drink from this lake,’ a deep voice boomed from the bottom of the waters. ‘This is the lake of life: you can drink from it only if you can answer my questions. Otherwise, these waters shall poison you. Your brothers disregarded my questions and so they had to die.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Yudhishthira inquired humbly. ‘No ordinary being could have killed my invincible brothers! Reveal yourself to me, O slayer of the Pandavas, and I shall answer your questions.’

  ‘I am a yaksha, the guardian spirit of this lake.’ A gruesome-looking creature appeared before the distraught Yudhishthira. ‘I am pleased by your humility. Now I must ask you certain questions that you must answer before you drink of my waters.’

  ‘Ask what you will, O yaksha,’ said Yudhishthira.

  The yaksha cleared his throat. ‘What saves a man in danger?’ he asked.

  ‘It is courage that leads man through danger,’ replied Yudhishthira.

  ‘What is stronger than the earth?’ asked the yaksha.

  ‘A mother who brings up her children well is stronger and more sustaining than the earth,’ said Yudhishthira unhesitatingly.

  ‘What is higher than the heavens?’

  ‘One’s father is higher than the sky above.’

  ‘What moves faster than the wind?’ continued the yaksha.

  ‘The mind runs swifter than the wind.’

  ‘Who befriends a traveller?’ asked the yaksha.

  ‘Learning is the friend of he who travels,’ replied Yudhishthira.

  ‘What is the most valuable of all possessions?’ the yaksha persisted.

  ‘Knowledge is the most valuable of all possessions,’ came the reply.

  ‘What is the best form of happiness?’

  ‘Contentment.’

  ‘What makes one wealthy when it is discarded?’

  ‘Greed,’ said Yudhishthira.

  ‘What enemy cannot be overcome?’

  ‘Anger is that enemy,’ Yudhishthira replied, after careful consideration.

  ‘What is ignorance?’ asked the yaksha.

  ‘Not knowing or understanding one’s duties is ignorance.’

  ‘Who accompanies a man through life?’ the yaksha asked next.

  ‘His wife,’ said Yudhishthira, his eyes filling with tears as he thought of Draupadi.

  ‘And who accompanies a man in death?’

  ‘Righteous conduct and dharma are one’s companions in death,’ said Yudhishthira.

  ‘What is all the universe?’

  ‘It is but air and empty space,’ said Yudhishthira, a note of deep sadness in his voice.

  ‘What is truth?’

  ‘To see yourself in every living creature is truth,’ said Yudhishthira.

  ‘How may peace be false?’

  ‘When it is enforced through fear.’

  ‘What is more fatal than an incurable disease?’

  ‘A false friend,’ replied Yudhishthira.

  ‘What is envy?’ the yaksha asked.

  ‘Envy is grief of the heart.’

  ‘And what is grief?’

  ‘Grief arises from not understanding the nature of the world.’

  ‘What is true wealth?’ said the yaksha, untiring in his questions.

  ‘True wealth is found in the heart, for love and kindness are more valuable than gold, and honour more expensive than a treasury full of gems.’

  ‘What is the most difficult thing to learn?’

  ‘Restraint, and knowing when to stop, is the most difficult thing to learn,’ said the wisest of the Pandavas, remembering how he had recklessly gambled away his kingdom, his beloved brothers and his precious wife.

  ‘And now for my last question,’ said the yaksha. ‘What I ask is this. What is the most surprising thing on earth?’

  Yudhishthira considered the question for a long time. ‘All men know that they are mortals, and that death shall take us all,’ he said at last, ‘and yet, as we live, we delude ourselves that death will never come to us.’

  ‘I am well pleased with your answers,’ said the yaksha. ‘You may drink of these waters, and as the water touches your lips, I shall grant you the life of one of your brothers. Choose which of them you want restored from the world of the dead.’

  ‘May my brother Nakula be restored to life,’ pleaded Yudhishthira.

  The yaksha was surprised by his answer. ‘Why did you not choose Bhima or Arjuna?’ he asked. ‘Bhima, the strongest of men, was dearest to your heart, and you depended on valiant Arjuna for victory in your battle against the Kauravas. Why then would you bring Nakula back to life?’

  ‘My father had two wives, Queen Kunti and Queen Madri,’ replied Yudhishthira. ‘I love both my mothers equally, and so I ask only what is just, that a son of Madri should live as I do. I am the son of Dharma, and I seek always to follow the way of righteousness and good conduct.’

  ‘Drink from these waters, and all your brothers shall live again’ said the yaksha. Yudhishthira bent down to drink from the lake. As the cool water touched his lips, the four lifeless Pandavas sti
rred as though from a deep sleep and rose again.

  Yudhishthira fell at the feet of the yaksha. ‘You are not what you seem,’ he whispered. ‘No yaksha can possibly understand the question of right and wrong conduct as you do!’

  The creature changed form. Dharma, the god of righteousness, stood in his place. ‘I am your father, Yudhishthira,’ he smiled. ‘You are truly the son of Dharma, for you know and understand the laws of justice. I came here to test you, to see if you had learnt the difficult lessons life has tried to teach you.’

  Yudhishthira was overjoyed. He had at last met the great god by whose values he tried to lead his life.

  ‘I come to bless you, my son,’ Dharma continued. ‘Twelve years of your exile are almost over. In the thirteenth year, the year of disguise, your enemies shall be unable to recognize you. Go forth, Yudhishthira. Victory will always be yours.’

  The Year of Disguise

  In the twelve years of exile, difficulty and deprivation had taught the Pandavas much. They had learnt patience and fortitude. Arjuna had won divine weapons from his father and Lord Shiva. Bhima had been blessed by his brother Hanuman and by Kubera, the god of wealth. And now Yudhishthira too had met his father, Dharma, the lord of righteousness, and been blessed by him.

  The brothers debated about where they might hide so as to be safe from Duryodhana and his spies. ‘I know how our cousin thinks,’ said Yudhishthira. ‘He will seek us out in the kingdom of Drupad, or else in Dwarka, where he will imagine us to be hiding under the protection of our friend, Lord Krishna.’

  Arjuna suggested the city of Virata, in the kingdom of Matsya. ‘The king of Matsya is a noble and righteous man. Besides, he despises our cousin Duryodhana. We shall be safe under his protection,’ he said. And so it was agreed.

  They conferred about what new personas to assume so that no one would come to know their real identities during their year of agnaatvaasa or disguise.

  ‘I shall become Kanka, a philosopher and companion to the king,’ decided Yudhishthira. ‘My knowledge of the holy books and scriptures should come in useful.’

  Bhima resolved to go to Virata in the guise of a cook, and turn his love of good food to advantage. ‘And I can train the wrestlers in his gymnasium in my spare time,’ he added, his eyes lighting up at the prospect.

  ‘But you shall have to contain your temper, Bhima,’ Yudhishthira cautioned.

  Arjuna’s broad shoulders, scarred on both sides by the marks from his bow, the Gandiva, made him easy to recognize. Even strangers in far-flung lands had heard of the ambidextrous Arjuna, who could use both his right and left hand with equal ease to shoot his magical arrows. Arjuna’s face crinkled up into a mischievous smile as they discussed his disguise. ‘It’s time to bring the apsara Urvashi’s curse into action,’ he laughed. ‘Indra had suggested that I use it to disguise myself in the thirteenth year of our exile, and that’s just what I intend to do.’

  Nakula decided to work in the stables of the Matsya king, for he had a way with horses. It was almost as if he could talk to them and they would listen to all he said.

  Sahadeva, the youngest, was as good with cows and cattle as Nakula was with horses. ‘The wealth of the Matsya kingdom lies chiefly in its cattle,’ he said. ‘I’m sure the king will give me a job looking after his cows.’

  Draupadi had decided to disguise herself as a sairandhari, a hairdresser and beautician. ‘The queen of Matsya is fond of ornamenting herself. I will braid her hair for her and help her with her make-up,’ she said.

  The Pandavas looked doubtful. How would the beautiful princess of Drupad, the queen of Indraprastha, work as a handmaiden for an entire year? Yet there was nothing anybody could do about it.

  But there was another problem to solve. ‘What shall we do with our weapons?’ the Pandavas wondered anxiously. ‘Where can we keep them safe in the year of our disguise?’ After much discussion, they finally hit upon a plan.

  Arjuna unstrung his bow to hide it. His eyes filled with tears at the thought of parting with his most faithful companion during his years of wandering. ‘No archery for a year,’ he thought to himself. ‘I don’t know how I will survive it.’

  They went to a nearby cremation ground, where the villagers burnt their dead. Wrapping up their weapons, including Arjuna’s Gandiva and Bhima’s heavy mace, in a shroud, they pretended it was the dead body of their mother.

  ‘Oh, she was a wise old woman,’ the Pandavas wept, ‘and she lived to a ripe old age. Now that she is dead, we have to hang her shroud for a year from the highest branch of the tallest sami tree in the burning grounds, as is the custom in our land. Anybody who touches her corpse shall be cursed and die instantaneously.’ The credulous villagers were terrified by this story and kept away from the weapons.

  Yudhishthira invoked Indra, Varuna and Brahma, and all the other gods and immortals who had guided and protected them during their years of trouble. ‘I beseech you to keep these weapons in safe custody until a year has passed,’ he prayed. ‘Let no one, not even our impatient brother Bhima, be able to reach them.’ The gods assured him that they would honour his plea. Satisfied that their arms were safe from discovery, the Pandavas proceeded to Virata, the capital of Matsya.

  The king of Virata held a public audience every morning at his palace. Yudhishthira introduced himself to the king at one of these. The son of Dharma could not tell a lie and yet he could not, under the circumstances, speak the truth. ‘I am Kanka, a friend of Yudhishthira, the unfortunate king who is now in exile,’ he proclaimed. ‘I was closer to him than anyone in the world. And he to me.’ The king was pleased by the stranger’s noble bearing and dignified manner, and requested him to join his court as an honoured counsellor.

  The others too all found the jobs they had decided upon. Bhima assumed the name of Valala and got employment in the royal kitchens, while Nakula, who called himself Damagranthi, secured work in the stables. Sahadeva, now known as Tantripala, was hired to supervise the feeding and care of the animals in the royal cattle-sheds.

  Arjuna wore a long, red silk blouse to cover his broad scarred shoulders. Praying to Indra to help him in this difficult disguise, Arjuna assumed the identity of Brihannala, a eunuch. In those days, eunuchs, who are half man and half woman, would guard the women’s quarters in the palace, where they would dance and sing to amuse the royal ladies.

  The skills Arjuna had learnt from the gandharva king Chitrasena now stood him in good stead. Brihannala was employed to teach dance and music to Uttara, the princess of Matsya.

  Sudeshna, the queen of Virata, was very taken by Draupadi’s skill at hairdressing. ‘There is only one problem, Sairandhari,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘You are too lovely and regal to be a mere maid. You look like a queen yourself. I am worried that my husband might fall in love with you.’

  ‘I shall keep myself hidden from the king’s eyes,’ Sairandhari promised. ‘I wouldn’t like to cause any trouble. I have five gandharva husbands who have been separated from me due to a curse. They are very possessive and jealous, and would surely kill anyone who fell in love with me.’ Queen Sudeshna agreed to hire the skilled handmaiden, and so the five Pandavas and Draupadi began the final year of their exile in disguise in the Matsya court. The months went by peacefully, and it seemed the thirteenth year would pass without anyone discovering them, when disaster suddenly struck.

  Keechaka

  Queen Sudeshna of Matsya had an older brother called Keechaka, who was commander-in-chief of Virata’s armies. He was a huge, muscular man and a ready fighter, and the peace-loving king of Matsya depended entirely on him to protect the borders of his land.

  One day, Keechaka came to visit his sister the queen in her royal chambers. Her new handmaiden’s beauty drew him like a magnet. He admired her long, dark hair and large, flashing eyes.

  Keechaka thought a handmaiden would be easy to woo with presents and big promises. He did not know that the handmaiden was actually herself a queen in disguise. ‘I love you, Sairandhari,’ he wh
ispered. ‘Live with me and I will keep you in comfort such as you have never known.’

  He kept pursuing her in this way, pestering her day and night with his protestations of love. The proud Draupadi was offended by his advances, but she could not keep Keechaka away. Sudeshna, who adored her brother, was of no help at all. ‘My brother is a handsome man,’ she said. ‘Why are you offended if he loves you? You are of humble birth, and he of royal blood—you must do as he says.’

  Draupadi was disgusted by the uncouth Keechaka, who refused to pay heed to her firm refusals. In utter desperation, she went secretly to the kitchens and sought Bhima’s help. Bhima’s eyes became red as copper with rage. ‘I shall kill him here and now,’ he exclaimed, taking hold of a kitchen knife as he spoke. ‘I shall kill him this minute!’

  ‘Wait until nightfall,’ Draupadi cautioned him. ‘I shall lure Keechaka to come to the dance hall tonight,’ she said. ‘There will be nobody else there. You can teach him the lesson he so richly deserves.’

  Keechaka was overjoyed when Sairandhari arrived at his quarters. ‘I have changed my mind,’ she said. ‘I was afraid of my husbands, the jealous gandharvas. But you are too strong for them to trouble you! Meet me in the dance hall tonight, where we can be alone, and you will get all that you have been waiting for.’

  Bhima dressed himself in women’s robes and hid in the hall. Keechaka arrived, smelling of perfume, and wearing his shiniest jewels. In the dark shadows, he mistook Bhima for his beloved Sairandhari and leapt forward to kiss her. Bhima picked him up and twirled him around a hundred times before dashing him to the ground. Keechaka was dead and Bhima was satisfied that for once Draupadi’s honour had been protected.

  Keechaka’s body was discovered the next morning. Nobody could understand who might have killed him or why. Queen Sudeshna was heartbroken. She suspected that Sairandhari might have had a hand in it. ‘I should have known she was trouble the day I hired her,’ she wept. ‘Such extreme beauty always causes disaster and discord.’ Summoned by the weeping queen, Sairandhari confessed that her gandharva husband had slaughtered Keechaka. ‘You must leave the palace before I destroy you,’ the queen sobbed.