Mahabharata

by Carole Satyamurti

  that acts pursue the actor, the Almighty

  must be besmirched by the evil he has done.

  And if it is not true—well then, mere might

  governs everything; big fish devour

  little fish. Oh, I grieve for the powerless!”

  “Beloved wife,” replied Yudhishthira,

  “what you say is blasphemous and wrong.

  I choose to follow dharma, and I do it

  because it is right, not to obtain rewards.

  I follow the example of the wise.

  We are human beings, not animals

  tussling over a piece of carrion.

  I firmly believe that if we follow dharma

  it does bear fruit, that every single act

  has consequences, though we may not see them.

  Do not revile the Almighty, Draupadi.”

  Draupadi said, “It’s misery that makes me

  talk in this way. I don’t despise dharma.

  But one who does nothing in the face of evil

  is an unfired pot, worn away by water.

  You preach forbearance above everything,

  but every living human being must act.

  From the infant, sucking its mother’s nipple,

  to the dying person’s final labored breath,

  we fight to stay alive. What we achieve

  is not just fate, nor is it mere chance

  but the fruit of all we try to do.

  We have to strive with what strength we possess,

  using reason and determination,

  to convert our actions to achievement.

  That way, we need not reproach ourselves.

  A peasant turns the soil and plants the seed.

  Then he waits for rain. If the monsoon

  fails, and the seedlings wither in the ground,

  he will, at least, have acted as he should.

  Without fate and chance he cannot prosper.

  But without his action, best of husbands,

  fate and chance have nothing to work upon.

  I learned this from a brahmin long ago

  while I still lived in my father’s house.”

  Bhima had been listening. Now he burst out,

  impatient with his brother’s arguments.

  “Yudhishthira, you talk about your word.

  But slavishly to cling to an agreement

  made under duress? Forgiving wrongdoers

  who exult in evil and who themselves

  have never sought forgiveness? That is madness

  and feebleness of the most craven kind!

  “It was respect for you, our eldest brother,

  that kept us silent when, in some kind of trance,

  you made stake after stake. From loyalty

  we sat on our hands while Duryodhana,

  like a jackal gobbling another’s kill,

  snaffled the fruit of Shakuni’s sleight of hand—

  our kingdom! It is for you that we’ve endured,

  for long months now, this wilderness, this exile,

  lacking virtue, pleasure, lacking the glory

  our limbs and hearts are made for, ridiculed—

  and rightly—by those who should respect us.

  This is a pitiful life for kshatriyas;

  living like this, you emasculate yourself.

  Arjuna and I possess between us

  all the skill and strength we need to crush

  Duryodhana—and we have our allies.

  We should declare war on the Kaurava.

  And what if we are slaughtered? Better that

  than live like eunuchs, vegetating here!

  “You insist on dharma—but for kshatriyas

  dharma is threefold—pursuit of virtue, wealth

  and pleasure. It requires sacrifices

  and gifts to brahmins. For that, one must have wealth.

  The Vedas are not enough for men like us.

  And, though wealth or pleasure by themselves

  will lead to tyranny or slothfulness,

  all three are needed in a well-lived life.

  Each by itself will lead a man astray—

  including virtue.

  “A king should be strong, bold,

  a vigilant protector of his people.

  By losing your kingdom, you abandoned them.

  Our lives are finite; time flows on and on.

  If you keep to your word so stubbornly,

  we could be dead before our exile ends.

  Besides, it may never end! What chance is there

  that Draupadi, most beautiful of women,

  or I, built like an elephant, can live

  unrecognized, when Duryodhana’s spies

  will be searching for us up and down the land,

  and when there’ll always be some weasel, anxious

  to earn a fat reward from Dhritarashtra?

  And if, or when, we’re recognized, then starts

  another thirteen years! Unbearable!

  “Even if our suffering fails to move you

  consider your dharma as a kshatriya

  and as our king. Rouse up your warrior’s heart

  and earn the world’s respect. Fight, best of Bharatas!

  Who can withstand the might of Arjuna?

  Who can survive the force of my great club?

  With Krishna on our side, how can we fail?”

  “Bhima,” said Yudhishthira, “listen to me—

  I cannot blame you for your impatient wrath.

  Nothing you and Draupadi can say

  can be as harsh as my own self-reproach.

  I took the challenge hoping I could win

  Duryodhana’s possessions. When I saw

  Shakuni’s dexterity, and knew

  I could never match it, I should have withdrawn.

  But I was proud and angry—and obsessed

  with winning back what I had lost. I think

  I lost my reason; it was preordained.

  “I know that my insistence upon patience

  seems perverse to you. But, I repeat,

  I gave my word. You saw that I agreed

  in front of all the elders of the court

  to stand by the conditions of the wager.

  And my word is more important to me

  than any kingdom, even than life itself.

  The time for you to intervene was when

  you saw how I was gripped by gambling madness.

  But you said nothing, I can only think

  it was the gods’ will. Now it is too late.

  Our task is patience.”

  “Oh!” cried Draupadi,

  her fresh tears flowing, “your mind’s unbendable!

  Son of Kunti, you would sacrifice

  my life, and the lives of all your brothers,

  before you would give up your precious ‘word’!”

  “Brother, consider it like this,” said Bhima,

  “I have heard the wise expound the view

  that months may be substituted for years.

  We have been here thirteen months already.

  Think of them as years—rally your forces!

  If that’s wrongdoing, you can atone later

  by paying for a costly sacrifice.”

  Yudhishthira reflected. Then he said,

  “Wolf-belly, that may be. But think about it—

  while we have been away, Duryodhana

  has not been idle. I cannot imagine

  that our cousin and his friends are comfortable

  in their possession of our kingdom. I know

  he must be consumed by ever-mounting fear

  as the time for his enjoyment shortens daily.

  He has done wrong and, once a man does that,

  he wanders in an inner wilderness

  of terror and suspicion. I have learned

  that he has assembled enormous forces.

  Think—his wealth is almost without limit.

  Many kings who bowed to us
before

  are now rallying to Duryodhana.

  Our cousin has distributed such wealth

  and privileges that he is surrounded

  by strong allies. Bhishma, Drona and Kripa,

  although they love us equally, are conscious

  of whose food they are eating. In the end,

  their skill and their celestial weapons will be

  deployed in the service of Duryodhana.

  Altogether, we’re in no position

  to fight against such formidable forces—

  and that is without reckoning on Karna,

  whose prowess with a bow is unsurpassed.

  All these multitudinous factors stand

  between us and victory, Wolf-belly.”

  Bhima was silent. Furious though he was,

  he saw the sense in what his brother said.

  “Brother, I promise you,” said Yudhishthira,

  “that if our exile ends successfully,

  without our being found in the thirteenth year,

  and if Duryodhana then refuses

  to give us back our kingdom, then, my Bhima,

  we shall fight with all the ferocity,

  all the skill and courage, we can muster.

  Then you will shatter Duryodhana’s thigh,

  and rip open his evil brother’s breast;

  then Arjuna can kill the mighty Karna;

  then, Draupadi, you can drench your streaming hair

  in the heart’s blood of wicked Duhshasana.

  And I will fight beside you. Then my wrath

  will be as resolute as yours is now.”

  Presently, Vyasa was seen approaching.

  He had sensed discord among the Pandavas

  and had come to speak to Yudhishthira.

  He took the eldest Pandava aside

  and told him the time would come when Arjuna

  would overcome the Kauravas in battle.

  “For this, he will have need of secret knowledge

  in order to obtain celestial weapons—

  secret knowledge which I shall teach you now.

  After you have passed it on to him,

  he should undertake a pilgrimage

  to the Himalaya, scaling the snowy peaks

  where Shiva may be found. There he must embark

  on the most rigorous austerities

  in order to become a fit possessor

  of Shiva’s dreadful weapon, Pashupata.

  Believe me, he will need it. He will succeed,

  for he is Nara, the eternal seer,

  companion of Narayana. Meanwhile,

  you should move away from here; this place

  no longer has enough food to sustain you

  and your companions.” Then Vyasa imparted

  secret wisdom to Yudhishthira

  and disappeared.

  Later, the Pandavas

  moved to their original encampment,

  the Kamyaka woods by the Sarasvati.

  Some time after that, Yudhishthira

  spoke to Arjuna in private, telling him

  what Vyasa had said: his crucial task.

  Placing his hands gently on Arjuna,

  he conveyed Vyasa’s secret knowledge,

  and Arjuna was fired with new resolve

  and energy to carry out his mission.

  The family parted from Arjuna

  with many blessings, and with fervent hopes.

  For the weapon above all other weapons

  would bring them victory in the war to come.

  Draupadi expressed her ardent wish:

  “May your mission be successful, Arjuna.

  May whatever Kunti wished for you

  at your birth come true. But, in the next life,

  may we not be born as kshatriyas,

  yoked to war! Go well, beloved husband.

  Be safe from every threat and enemy.

  May the gods protect you. We shall know no joy

  until your safe return.”

  21.

  QUEST

  Carrying his sword and his bow Gandiva,

  Arjuna strode out of the shady forest

  into the sparkling light of early morning.

  Now his life had purpose. He set his course

  toward the mountains and the realm of gods.

  He traveled swiftly, through the power of yoga,

  faster than the wind, as fast as thought.

  The air grew colder when, in just one day,

  he reached the towering peaks of the Himalaya,

  abode of snow, brilliant and aloof.

  He passed over Gandhamadana

  mountain of fragrant herbs. Beyond it lay

  range after range, clothed in dazzling white.

  He traveled, never stopping, never tiring,

  under an arching sky of deepest blue.

  When he reached the mountain Indrakila,

  he heard a voice say, “Stop!” An old ascetic

  sat there in a posture of meditation.

  “Why do you come armed to this holy place?

  There is no conflict here, no enemies—

  drop your bow, your arrow-brimming quivers.

  In this land, you will find serenity;

  this is where your quest ends.” The man spoke sternly,

  his expression was forbidding. Arjuna

  bowed before him, but was unpersuaded—

  he would not be staying in this place;

  he would need his mighty bow Gandiva,

  his inexhaustible supply of arrows,

  for the great work that lay ahead of him.

  Then, laughing, the ascetic revealed himself

  as Indra, lionhearted Arjuna’s

  divine father. “What boon shall I grant you,

  what heavenly joys, now you have reached this place

  so close to heaven?” Arjuna bowed to him.

  “What would I want with all the joys of heaven

  while my brothers languish in the wilderness?

  I wish to master the celestial weapons.

  I hear you say I have no need of them,

  that I could stay on in these sacred mountains

  for ever. But no conceivable delight,

  no sovereignty, no worlds, no happiness,

  could deflect me from my chosen path—I must

  help my brothers to avenge our wrongs.”

  “Then,” said Indra, “you shall have the weapons,

  but only after you encounter Shiva,

  the celestial three-eyed trident-bearer.”

  With that, he disappeared, and Arjuna

  traveled onward, calm and resolute,

  making for the highest Himalaya.

  He settled in a peaceful wood, and started

  a life of prayer and fierce austerity

  dedicated to all-powerful Shiva.

  Night and day, he chanted the thousand names

  of the god, and, as week succeeded week,

  he ate less and less, until at last

  he took in nothing but pure mountain air.

  When sitting cross-legged seemed to him too easy,

  he prayed standing on his toes, arms raised.

  The great seers, fearing the consequences

  of Arjuna’s punishing austerities,

  begged Lord Shiva, “Please put a stop to it.

  We do not know what he may want from this.”

  Shiva smiled and gave them reassurance.

  One day, a boar, thick-tusked and ferocious,

  really a rakshasa, charged at Arjuna.

  Quicker than blinking, he took up his bow

  and shot it. Now resuming its true form,

  it fell, lifeless. But another arrow

  had pierced the creature’s thick and hairy hide

  at the same moment—an imposing hunter

  of radiant appearance was standing there,

  surrounded by a crowd of women. “Stranger,”

  said Arjuna, “why did you shoot
this beast

  I had marked out for myself? I challenge you!

  You have transgressed the conventions of the chase.”

  “Fool,” said the hunter, “the animal is mine—

  I killed it. You have insulted me—for that

  I shall kill you!” The stranger loosed a stream

  of snake-like darts. Arjuna did the same,

  pelting the hunter with a rain of arrows

  any one of which should have killed him outright.

  The hunter stood, the arrows bouncing off him,

  while his women were laughing and applauding

  as though the fight were for their entertainment.

  Astonished, Arjuna shot even more

  lethal iron arrows—to no effect.

  Then he found his inexhaustible quivers

  were empty. He thrust and jabbed courageously

  with his bow’s tip, but the towering hunter

  snatched the great Gandiva from his hands.

  Arjuna aimed his spear, which broke in fragments

  as it met the stranger’s skin. They fought with fists,

  and the mountains shuddered with the crack of bone

  encountering bone, until at last Arjuna

  fell, stunned, to the ground.

  “Well, well, Bharata!”

  said the hunter in a resounding voice,

  “I am pleased with you. No other hero

  could have put up such a fearless fight.”

  And in that moment, Arjuna realized

  the hunter was the glorious three-eyed god,

  Lord Shiva himself. He made prostrations.

  “My lord, I beg you to forgive my violence—

  I did not know you.” The god laughed in delight.

  “You have done well, greatest of mortal warriors.

  I have not seen such courage anywhere,

  in any world. You may ask a favor from me.”

  “I wish for the terrible Pashupata,

  the peerless weapon, known as Brahma’s Head,

  to which my teacher Drona introduced me.

  Give me that most dreadful of all weapons,

  that spews forth thousands of tridents, deadly clubs,

  venomous snake-like missiles, capable

  of killing evil spirits, powerful demons—

  the weapon that will atomize the world

  at the end of time. With it I shall defeat

  the evildoers and their misguided allies.”

  “Arjuna,” said Shiva, “you shall have it.

  But never forget its power. Never use it

  wantonly, but only when every other

  strategy is used up—only then

  should you unleash the ultimate destroyer.

  If it is summoned for some paltry reason,

  its force will terminate all life on earth.”

  Arjuna purified himself, and embraced

  Shiva’s feet. The god instructed him

  in how to use the weapon, how to launch it