Gandhari’s Curse
King Dhritarashtra went to Kurukshetra, where his sons, the Kauravas, had been slain. He was accompanied by thousands of weeping women and children.
Yudhishthira approached his uncle and bowed before him. The blind king gave his blessings, but in his heart there was anger and reproach. The other Pandavas also sought his blessings. After this, they went to Queen Gandhari and bent low to touch her feet and ask for her blessing. Since the day of her wedding, Gandhari had bound her eyes and consigned herself to blindness. Yet she could comprehend what was happening around her, and in people’s minds, with her sharp intuition. Her hurt and anguish were so deep that even through the bandages tied around her eyes, her searing gaze fell on Yudhishthira’s toe and charred it black.
Gandhari tried her best to compose herself. She embraced the weeping Draupadi, whose sons had all been killed by Ashwathama. ‘We share our fate; our sons have departed and yet we continue to live,’ she said.
‘Forgive me, mother Gandhari,’ implored Yudhishthira. ‘Curse me with whatever fate you consider a fit punishment.’
‘The Pandavas are my sons too,’ replied the queen. ‘Pride led to the downfall of my sons; I do not blame you alone, Yudhishthira.’ Her tears soaked the bandages that bound her eyes. ‘But you, Bhima, struck my son Duryodhana below the waist, against every rule of warfare! I find it difficult to forgive this. You drank the life-blood of my son Dusasana. Is this how a warrior should conduct himself?’
‘Forgive me, mother Gandhari,’ murmured the mighty Bhima. Tears were running down his face and he was weeping like a baby.
Arjuna saw Gandhari’s anger and was stricken by guilt and fear. In his discomfiture he hid behind Krishna, whom Gandhari chose to address next. When she spoke to Lord Krishna, Gandhari’s voice was gentle and calm, and yet it held a cold fury which made all who heard her tremble with fear. ‘You are the one man who could have prevented this war,’ she said. ‘You are to blame for the death of my sons and the destruction of my family. Today I, Gandhari, wife of King Dhritarashtra, mother of the slain Kauravas, place this curse upon you and your Vrishni clan. Hear me well: thirty-six years to this day, your family and your kinsmen shall stand destroyed at each other’s hands. Their wives and children shall weep and wail, as ours do now. This is the curse of Gandhari.’
Krishna listened to her serenely, a mysterious smile playing upon his dusky face. ‘I thank you, mother Gandhari,’ he said finally. ‘The destruction of the Vrishni clan was preordained, but with your curse I shall no longer be the agent of its destruction. Curse me as you will, but spare the Pandavas your wrath.’
Kunti and Her Sons
Queen Kunti had not met her sons since the time of their exile, although Vidura had kept her informed of their whereabouts. Now, when she saw her patient Yudhishthira, her brave Bhima, her valiant Arjuna, her beloved Nakula and Sahadeva, her heart overflowed with love. But her secret grief for her son Karna was consuming her from within.
For three days Karna’s body lay on the battlefield of Kurukshetra, where Arjuna had slain him. His wife lay weeping over his body, which even in death was radiant with the sun god’s blessings.
All Karna’s sons were dead, destroyed in the carnage. Since the world knew him only as the son of the charioteer Adiratha, he had no relative to say the death-prayers and perform the Kshatriya death-rituals for him. The noble and unfortunate Karna was as alone in death as he had been in life, from the time his mother Kunti had cast him to the waters and left him to his fate.
As Yudhishthira assisted Vidura, Sanjay and Dhaumya in the offerings to the dead to propitiate the souls of Draupadi’s murdered sons, and as Arjuna said the last prayers for his son Abhimanyu, Kunti gathered up her courage. Karna had made her promise not to reveal the secret of his birth to his brothers while he lived. Now he was dead, and it was time for her to tell her other sons the tragic truth.
‘You still have to say the prayers for one more brave and valiant soul,’ Kunti said to Yudhishthira.
Her son looked at her with puzzled, uncomprehending eyes. He could not understand whom she was referring to.
‘Karna was born a Kshatriya, a warrior. His mother was a young princess who feared disgrace. She was not married and yet she had borne a child by the sun god, Surya. This heartless princess, in her selfish concern for her own reputation, put the child afloat in a reed basket on the Ganga.’
‘Who was this evil person?’ Yudhishthira asked. ‘Surely no mother could be so cruel!’
Kunti let out a choked sob. ‘I was that mother,’ she said, not daring to look her sons in the eye. Having finally revealed the secret she had been hiding all her life, she fell to the ground in a dead faint.
It took some time for her words to register. ‘Karna was our eldest brother and we killed him,’ Yudhishthira whispered brokenly to Arjuna.
Vidura revived Kunti, as the brothers tried to cope with the import of this new and dreadful knowledge. Lord Krishna watched them with compassion in his eyes.
‘Did my brother Karna ever know the truth about his birth?’ Yudhishthira asked Kunti.
She had recovered from her fainting spell, but the grieving Kunti was still too weak to speak. She nodded faintly. ‘He knew,’ she sobbed. ‘But Karna made me swear not to tell you; he feared you would lose the will to fight. Your brother made me a promise before he died, that he would not kill any of my sons, except Arjuna.’
The Pandavas wished the earth would swallow them up. Perhaps the entire battle for victory had been a terrible, sad mistake: they had all lost more than they had gained.
Yudhishthira sighed. ‘I remember the day I lost my kingdom at the dice game,’ he said. ‘I shall remember how my head was bent down in shame. I could see Karna’s feet and in that moment I realized that they were just like those of our mother. At that sight all the anger had left me; I could not hate him any more. Oh, if only I had known that he was my brother, how different things would be.’
‘Karna had me at his mercy on the day that Jayadratha fell,’ Bhima recalled, and a deep sense of sorrow and shame flashed through him. Sahadeva and Nakula remembered how Karna had met them in a duel and let them go without putting up a fight. Yudhishthira now realized that Karna had honoured his promise to Kunti and spared him on the day he fell to Arjuna’s dastardly attack.
‘You kept this terrible secret from us, Mother,’ Yudhishthira said sombrely. ‘You did an injustice to your firstborn. From this day I curse all womankind that they shall never be able to keep a secret to themselves.’
The Death of Bhishma
Yudhishthira was so disturbed by the injustice he had done to Karna that he lost all interest in his kingdom. He blamed himself entirely for all the bloodshed, and spent all his time in prayers and atonement.
Finally, Narada, Vyasa and the other great sages visited him and tried to make him see reason. ‘The duty of a king is to rule, not to weep,’ they told him. ‘A king has no right to personal grief, for he lives only for his subjects.’
Yudhishthira saw the wisdom in their words and agreed to forget the past.
His coronation at Hastinapura was a grand and solemn affair, where old king Dhritarashtra crowned his nephew as the royal priests chanted their prayers. Krishna watched the ceremony with tears in his eyes, for it was the victory of justice and righteousness over injustice and greed.
Krishna knew that only the greatest of the Kuru warriors, the patriarch Bhishma, who lay dying on his bed of arrows, could instruct Yudhishthira in the art of governance. ‘Yudhishthira, you must seek the blessings of your grand-uncle Bhishma,’ he said. ‘He alone can teach you what it truly means to be a great king.’
Yudhishthira was initially reluctant to visit the revered patriarch, whom he had defeated in battle. At last he overcame his hesitation, and Krishna, Satyaki and Yudhishthira went to the battlefield of Kurukshetra, where Bhishma held death at bay as he waited for the sun to change direction and begin its auspicious northward journey.
> ‘Most revered of the ancients, you have but sixty-five days to live,’ Lord Krishna said gently to Bhishma. ‘I beseech you to use these precious days to instruct your grandson Yudhishthira on how he must conduct himself to be a just and righteous king.’
‘I lie on my bed of arrows, my mind distracted by pain, my memory clouded by the unbearable events that attended the last days of my life. How can I instruct the mighty and victorious Yudhishthira, who is the son of Dharmaraj himself?’ replied Bhishma.
Lord Krishna granted Bhishma a boon by which his pain and discomfort miraculously vanished. He was youthful and radiant again, as he had been when, as the young prince Devavrata, he had wandered by the banks of the Ganga.
The grand patriarch Bhishma taught Yudhishthira all that he had learnt of statecraft over the years. ‘Justice and truthfulness are the marks of a good king,’ he declared. ‘His subjects must live in freedom and happiness.’ He explained how the subjects must choose and honour their kings, how taxes should be levied, how the kingdom must be defended from covetous neighbours or treacherous courtiers. When at last he had transmitted his treasure trove of knowledge and experience, Bhishma closed his eyes and took a deep, long sigh. He knew his end was approaching.
It was the month of Magh. The sun had changed its course and the time had come for Bhishma to die. Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, Kunti, the five Pandavas, Draupadi, Vidura, Yuyutsu, Satyaki and Lord Krishna all assembled at Kurukshetra to seek his final blessings.
Bhishma’s face was lit by an unearthly radiance. The wonderful glowing light arose like a bird from his body and flew to the heavens above.
After Bhishma’s body, on its bed of arrows, had been cremated, Vidura, Yudhishthira and Dhritarashtra took the ashes to Ganga, the river goddess who had given birth to him. She wept bitter tears for the son she had borne and who now had been returned to her.
A New Beginning
It was time for Uttara, Abhimanyu’s widow, to give birth. Her unborn child had been burnt within her womb by the strength of Ashwathama’s wrath when he had released the Brahmastra. The baby Parikshit was born lifeless. But the strength of Krishna’s prayers returned Parikshit to life. In time he would become the heir of the Pandavas.
There was rejoicing in the household. After the long cycle of war and destruction, a young child had arrived to bring cheer to the family. Bhima, the tallest, fattest and strongest of the Pandavas, made a wonderful grandfather, and abandoned his warlike pursuits to hold baby Parikshit in his arms and make funny faces at him.
For fifteen years after Yudhishthira was crowned king, Dhritarashtra and Gandhari continued to stay at their palace in Hastinapura. Yudhishthira was always respectful and loving. Still, the aged king and his wife continued in their hearts to mourn their dead sons. Only Yuyutsu was still alive; he tried, through constant love and tender care, to bring some joy into his aged parents’ lives.
As was the custom in those days, Dhritarashtra resolved to go to the mountains and spend his remaining days in prayer and meditation. Gandhari insisted on going with him, as did Vidura and Kunti.
Yudhishthira reluctantly allowed them to leave. He understood that they had seen too much pain, suffering and death; they took no pleasure now in the pomp and grandeur of court life.
Dhritarashtra, his wife Gandhari, his half-brother Vidura and his sister-in-law Kunti spent two years in the forest together, in the northern mountains. They lived in a simple thatched hut and wore garments of rough bark. They had no servants or courtiers, and cooked and cleaned for themselves. It was all very different from the royal life they were accustomed to, but they were at last at peace with themselves.
One day a forest fire swept through the high mountain slopes and Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, Vidura and Kunti were all consumed in the flames. The Pandavas grieved their loss. The long story of King Santanu, and his sons Vichitravirya and Chitrangad Vichitravirya’s wives Ambika and Ambalika, and sons, Pandu, Dhritarashtra and Vidura, was slowly winding to a close.
The Destruction of Dwarka
After Kurukshetra, Krishna had returned to his kingdom of Dwarka, which he ruled together with his brother Balarama. The clan of the Vrishnis, so valiant in battle, had become indisciplined and pleasure-loving in peace.
When the sages Vishwamitra, Kanva and Narada came to Dwarka, the young men of the royal family decided to play a practical joke on them. They took one of their friends, a boy called Samba, and dressed him up as a pregnant woman. ‘Can you please turn your third eye to the future and predict if this young lady will give birth to a boy or a girl?’ they asked.
Now sages are not famous for their sense of humour. The prank was intended to embarrass Vishwamitra, Kanva and Narada, but the enraged sages gave way to their anger by cursing the Vrishni clan for all times to come.
‘This man, whom you have dressed as a women, will give birth to an iron rod, which will be the cause of the destruction of your race,’ they declared.
In time, Samba gave birth to an iron rod. The terrified young man rushed to Krishna and Balarama and told them of what had happened and of the curse of the three sages. Balarama immediately ordered that the iron rod be crushed into fine powder, which was then thrown into the sea.
Life went on as before. Only Krishna knew that Gandhari’s curse and the prediction of the sages was inevitably bound to be realized. When the season arrived for the annual worship of Sankara at Prabhas-teertha, the entire clan set out for the journey together. Krishna had grown weary of the incessant quarrels and intrigues within the family. He knew already that this would be their last journey together, for he was powerless to fight the decrees of destiny.
Grand tents had been pitched by the sea. There was feasting and drinking and public games. One evening, when Satyaki and Kritavarma were drinking together, they began talking about the past, remembering old grudges and grouses. Satyaki had not forgiven Kritavarma for siding with Duryodhana in the great war. Now he insulted him, and called him a murderer for attacking the Pandava camp while they slept. Kritavarma, too, was very drunk. Old wounds festered within him and soon the two were brawling in public. Satyaki sprang at Kritavarma and beheaded him. Others joined in the fight, and when they had exhausted their weapons, they took hold of the long, stiff reeds that grew along the seashore and lashed out at each other.
Now these weeds had grown from the ground iron filings of the cursed rod that Samba had given birth to. In spite of Balarama’s stratagem, the curse of the sages had fulfilled itself. The Vrishnis, whom none but their own race could destroy, had thoughtlessly and foolishly killed themselves. Only Balarama, Krishna and Daruka were still alive. Even Krishna’s favourite son Pradyumna had been brutally murdered.
Balarama was nowhere to be seen. Krishna searched high and low for his brother until he found him in a wooded grove, leaning against a tree from where he looked with sad eyes at the advancing waves of the sea. Sheshnaga, the serpent who holds within him the coils of time, came from deep within the ocean to reclaim Balarama.
Krishna dispatched Daruka to Hastinapura to summon Arjuna to Dwarka. The widowed women and orphaned children were to be protected, and who could do that better than Arjuna?
Though Lord Krishna was an incarnation of Vishnu, he had been born in mortal form; he had to die as the rest of us do. He knew his time on earth was over. He thought of his childhood at Gokul where Yashoda, his foster mother, had brought him up so tenderly; his first and greatest love, the milkmaid Radha; the scene at Mathura when he had killed his tyrannical uncle Kamsa. He sat in the forest and thought of these things.
Just then the hunter Jara made his way through the thick vegetation searching for deer. He saw Krishna’s foot and the yellow silk of his robes. Mistaking him for a forest animal, he took careful aim. He had a newly-crafted arrow, which he had made from iron he had found by the shore. Though he did not know it, it was part of the same rod that Balarama had ordered to be powdered and cast into the sea.
Long long ago, the sage Durvasa had granted Lord
Krishna the gift of invulnerability all over his body, except in the soles of his feet. Jara’s arrow pierced Krishna’s feet, and went through his body, all the way to his head. He cried out in pain and Jara discovered to his horror that he had taken aim at the great Lord Krishna himself. Thus does destiny work its plans, overtaking our caution and good intentions. Krishna’s divine soul ascended to the heavens, for his body had served the purpose for which it had been born.
Arjuna arrived at Prabhasa with Daruka in response to Lord Krishna’s summons. He found Pradyumna and Satyaki lying slaughtered among a field of mangled bodies. The two went in search of Krishna, but he too was dead.
Arjuna’s sorrow was too great to be described in mere words. He set off with the surviving members of the clan—the women, children and a few old men—towards distant Hastinapura.
Dwaravati, the magnificent eight-sided city of gates, lay abandoned. The sea, which had taken Balarama into its arms, rose once again, a tower of water that lashed into the turrets and palaces of Dwaravati. Its deep roar was like a sigh through the heavens, and the salt water coursed through the streets of Krishna’s capital. It submerged the beautiful buildings and palaces, and soon the city had sunk without a trace into the water. Time leaves nothing true, and not a trace remained of the grandeur of Dwarka.
The Worlds Beyond
After Krishna’s death, the Pandavas lost all interest in life. They decided to roam as hermits until they found their way to heaven. Parikshit, the son of Uttara and Abhimanyu, was crowned king of Hastinapura. The last of the surviving Kauravas, his uncle Yuyutsu, was appointed his guardian, and the aged Kripacharya, who had brought up the Kauravas and the Pandavas, was made his guru.
The Puffin Mahabharata Page 16