Mahabharata

by Carole Satyamurti

  “‘I fell asleep and dreamed—or was it real? I found myself in terrible darkness, and I remember a majestic figure who dragged me away . . .’

  “‘Later, I will tell you what happened,’ said Savitri, ‘but night is falling—we should hurry home.’ Soon it was pitch dark and they could hear wild animals rustling menacingly in the undergrowth. But Satyavat knew the forest well, and they safely reached the hermitage.

  “They found the whole community in a fever of anxiety at their absence. Search parties had been sent out for them. But King Dyumatsena had regained his sight, to everyone’s great joy. The next day, Savitri recounted the whole story—how the seer, Narada, had foretold Satyavat’s death, and how, through persistence and eloquence, she had won back his life, as well as other boons.

  “Soon afterward, the king regained his kingdom. And, in time, Savitri gave birth to a hundred sons, and so did her mother.

  “So you see,” said the sage to Yudhishthira,

  “Savitri, through her virtue and good sense,

  rescued those she loved; and in the same way

  Draupadi sustains the Pandavas!”

  As the end of the twelfth year approached,

  Karna’s father, Surya, the sun god,

  appeared to Karna in a dream, to warn him.

  “Most truthful of men, the mighty Indra,

  anticipating war, and keen to favor

  the Pandavas, will try to take the earrings

  and the golden armor you were born with.

  The whole world knows how generous you are,

  how you never refuse to give to brahmins

  when they ask. So he will come to you

  in brahminical disguise, and beg from you

  your earrings and your shining gold cuirass.

  Offer him something else—give him anything

  except those things, for they are your protection.

  Wearing them, you cannot be killed in battle;

  without them, you are open, vulnerable.”

  “Lord of light, I know you say this to me

  for my own good. I am devoted to you

  as to no other deity. I love you

  more than my wife, my sons, my friends, myself.

  But I do not fear death as I fear untruth;

  I would rather die than be dishonored.

  Giving to brahmins is my avowed practice

  and if I die as a result, so be it;

  I shall gain fame thereby.”

  “Posthumous fame,”

  said Surya, “is a rather poor reward

  if you are reduced to a pile of ashes

  and scattered to the winds. A dead man’s fame

  is as useless as adorning him with jewels.

  There is a reason, known only to the gods,

  why you should keep the armor you were born with.”

  “I have my arms, my strength, my hard-won skill,”

  said Karna. “I can defeat Arjuna

  with those alone.”

  “Then at least,” said Surya,

  “if your mind is so set on your vow,

  ask the wielder of the thunderbolt

  for a celestial weapon in exchange.”

  The dream ended, and Karna remembered it.

  Not long afterward, as he was praying

  to the lord Surya, standing in the river

  with hands joined in devotion, a tall brahmin

  approached him begging alms. “What shall I give you?”

  asked Karna. “Your earrings and your golden armor,”

  replied the holy man. “Respected brahmin,

  please ask for something else,” said Karna, “wealth,

  women, cattle, land . . . I need my armor

  to protect me from my enemies.”

  But the brahmin, as Karna knew he would,

  refused all other gifts. “O chief of gods,”

  said Karna, laughing, “I know who you are.

  Is it not the business of the gods

  to give gifts to mortals? That being so,

  if I am to mutilate my body

  you should give me something in exchange.”

  “Very well,” said Indra, “choose a gift—

  Surya must have told you I was coming.

  Take anything except my thunderbolt.”

  Karna chose Indra’s javelin, which always

  found its mark and flew back to his hand.

  Indra said, “You shall have it but, for you,

  it will only hit a single target

  and then return to me.”

  “A single target

  is enough,” said Karna: “that mighty hero

  I fear above all others.”

  “Be aware,”

  said Indra, “that the hero you have in mind

  is protected by Narayana himself.”

  “No matter,” Karna said, “give me the spear.

  But grant that I will not appear disfigured

  when I have cut the armor from my body.”

  “Karna, because you are a man of truth

  your body will be unscarred. You will retain

  the radiance you inherit from your father.”

  Then, having accepted the tall spear,

  Karna took a sharp knife, and he cut

  and cut until the golden armor peeled

  slowly away, and he presented it,

  wet with blood, to Indra. As he did so

  he did not show the smallest sign of pain.

  The heavens echoed with admiring shouts

  and flowers rained down on the hero’s head.

  When the news of Karna’s renunciation

  reached the Kauravas, they were dismayed.

  But the Pandavas rejoiced when they heard.

  Now the Pandavas began to talk

  about the final period of their exile:

  how and where could they live unrecognized?

  One day, an old brahmin approached them, shouting—

  a stag had run off with his kindling sticks,

  he could not do his daily rites without them.

  The Pandavas set off in swift pursuit,

  they spread out separately, but none of them

  hit the animal. Then they lost sight of it.

  Nakula, parched with thirst, came to a lake

  and, crouching to drink, he heard a booming voice:

  “You may not drink until you give the answers

  to the questions I wish to put to you.”

  Nakula looked around and, seeing no one,

  and desperate with thirst, drank anyway.

  Instantly, he fell dead on the bank.

  One by one, his other brothers came,

  heard the voice, drank, and also fell lifeless.

  Last came Yudhishthira, horrified to find

  his brothers dead and, though he was as thirsty

  as they had been, when he heard the voice

  he reflected, drew back, and, speaking humbly,

  called, “Who are you, mysterious being?

  Ask your questions, but please let me see you.”

  A monstrous figure immediately appeared,

  towering over the surrounding landscape.

  “I am a yaksha, and this lake is mine;

  your brothers foolishly disobeyed me.”

  Then the yaksha fired riddles at him

  and, just as quickly, Yudhishthira replied:

  “What is it that makes the sun rise?”

  “Brahman.”

  “Who are the sun’s companions?”

  “The gods.”

  “How does a person achieve greatness?”

  “Greatness is achieved through austerity.”

  “What is one’s most constant friend?”

  “Insight.”

  “By what means does one acquire insight?”

  “Through devotedly serving one’s elders.”

  “What is swifter than the wind?”

  “The mind.”

  “What is the high
est gift of heaven?”

  “The truth.”

  “What is the most valuable possession?”

  “Knowledge.”

  “What is the highest dharma?”

  “Non-cruelty.”

  “What can be renounced without regret?”

  “Anger.”

  “What disease is a bar to happiness?”

  “Greed.”

  “What is ignorance?”

  “Not knowing one’s dharma.”

  “How does one find bliss in the next world?”

  “By acting virtuously in this one.”

  “What sleeps with its eyes open?”

  “A fish.”

  “What does not move when it is born?”

  “An egg.”

  “What has no heart?”

  “A rock has no heart.”

  “What grows as it rushes on its way?”

  “A river grows as it rushes on its way.”

  “What is the greatest wonder in the world?”

  “That, every single day, people die,

  yet the living think they are immortal.”

  The huge being asked many more questions

  and smiled with pleasure when Yudhishthira

  gave the answers. At last, it was satisfied.

  “You have answered well. Now you may choose

  one of your brothers to be restored to life.”

  “I choose Nakula,” said Yudhishthira.

  The yaksha was surprised, “But surely Bhima

  is dearest to you. And you need Arjuna

  to fight for you in the war that is to come.”

  “Yes,” said Yudhishthira, “but my father

  had two wives—and it is only right

  that one of Madri’s sons should also live.”

  There was a searing flash over the lake.

  The yaksha disappeared and became Dharma,

  god of righteousness, Yudhishthira’s father.

  He was delighted with his son’s replies,

  and brought all four brothers back to life.

  “I was the stag that took the brahmin’s sticks—

  here they are. Now ask a favour of me.”

  “My lord, grant that in our thirteenth year

  of exile we will not be recognized.”

  “It shall happen as you wish,” said Dharma.

  “And, Father, if I may ask one thing more:

  may my mind always lead me toward the truth.”

  “You ask for what you already have, my son.”

  And the god Dharma blessed the Pandavas.

  IV

  THE BOOK OF VIRATA

  25.

  VIRATA’S COURT

  Twelve years were over. Now the Pandavas

  must think how best to live unrecognized

  during their final year—though, thanks to Dharma,

  their success was certain. Where should they go?

  After the interminable seclusion

  of the forest, they welcomed the prospect

  of life in a city—somewhere not too close,

  and not too famous, a pleasant backwater.

  Arjuna, well-traveled, named a number

  of delightful kingdoms with hospitable

  rulers who reigned from well-appointed cities,

  and of these Yudhishthira chose Matsya,

  a wealthy kingdom ruled by King Virata.

  He discussed the prospect with his brothers.

  “We will take employment with the king.

  Now, sons of Kunti, say what kind of work

  you are best fitted for. What disguises,

  what false identities can you sustain

  plausibly until our exile ends?

  “I myself will be a brahmin, ‘Kanka.’

  I have become quite learned in the Vedas;

  and I can offer the king my mastery

  at dice! Remember, the sage Brihadashva

  taught me how to win without cheating.

  I shall enjoy rolling my fine dice

  made of beryl, ivory, gold, ebony . . .

  And if the king asks where I learned my skill

  I’ll say I was once Yudhishthira’s close friend.

  “But, Wolf-belly, you’ll find disguise a problem.

  How many men are there as tall and strong

  as you, or with so fiery a temper?”

  “It’s true,” laughed Bhima, “that disguising me

  is rather like trying to hide Mount Meru!

  But I’ll be ‘Ballava,’ a master cook

  experienced in every fine cuisine.

  I’ll install myself in the royal kitchen

  and curry favor with my toothsome curries!

  I can give wrestling courses on the side.

  I’m sure the king will love me when he samples

  what I can do. And if he should ask questions

  about my previous experience,

  I’ll tell him that my expertise was honed

  in the kitchens of King Yudhishthira

  at Indraprastha—that should satisfy him!”

  “And you, Arjuna?” asked Yudhishthira.

  “The most distinguished warrior in the world,

  eagle among men, brilliant as a god,

  won’t find it easy to go unremarked.”

  “These bowstring scars on my arms,” said Arjuna,

  “may be a problem, but I’ll cover them

  with bangles, braid my hair, wear women’s dress.

  I’ll teach the ladies in the king’s seraglio

  dancing, singing and all the female arts

  I learned from the gandharvas in Indra’s realm.

  I can play instruments, entertain the court

  with beguiling tales as well as any bard.

  I’ll pose as a eunuch, a transvestite,

  woman with a flute, ‘Brihannada’!”

  Nakula proposed to seek employment

  with the horses in the royal stables.

  He excelled at all equestrian skills,

  and was a master tamer of wild horses,

  no matter how intransigent or vicious.

  He loved them; and he had acquired the art

  of healing them when they were sick or injured.

  He would go by the name of “Granthika.”

  The region of the Matsyas was well known

  for its plump and fertile cattle. Sahadeva

  had never been happier than in the days

  when he had supervised the royal herds

  of Indraprastha. Now he would persuade

  King Virata that the cattle stations

  would flourish under his good management.

  He would call himself “Tantipala.”

  What of the virtuous Draupadi? Her husbands

  hated the thought of their beloved wife

  condemned to drudgery. But she was scornful

  of their scruples. “Do you really think

  I’m too weak for the life of a maidservant

  after what I have gone through in the forest?

  After what happened in the gambling hall?

  I shall play the part of a chambermaid,

  ‘Sairandhri,’ a woman free to find her own

  employment. But I shall say I have a husband—

  five, in fact, gandharvas, strong celestials—

  who will fight for my honor if required.

  I shall enter the service of Queen Sudeshna,

  arrange her hair, mix her creams and lotions,

  help to dress her, advise her if required.

  If I am questioned, I shall say that, once,

  I was a handmaid to Queen Draupadi.”

  They left their forest camp a few days early

  so as to give Duryodhana’s spies the slip.

  They said their heartfelt farewells to the brahmins

  who had been with them for their whole exile,

  consoling them and saying prayers for them.

  Dhaumya gave them blessings for their j
ourney

  and words of wise advice.

  “You must remember

  you have never known a life of servitude

  and there are gestures, postures, ways of moving

  that will come naturally to you, but which

  may cause offense when noticed in a servant.

  Be vigilant. Take care not to arouse

  envy or resentment. Neither too merry

  nor too glum, too eager, too reluctant—

  rather, be of even temperament,

  wearing a habitual gentle smile.

  That is the best way to survive at court.

  “Speak to the king only when spoken to.

  If he should ask you, ‘What is your opinion?’

  search your mind for what will give him pleasure

  and bring him profit—profit first and foremost.

  Pay him compliments judiciously

  but never make any reference to his wealth.

  Be discreet, never repeat to others

  what the king may say to you in confidence.

  That is the best way to survive at court.

  “A wise courtier knows that the king’s favor

  is uncertain, and always strives to earn it.

  Do not spend time with those whom the king dislikes,

  nor be too friendly with the courtiers’ wives,

  arousing jealousy. If the king gives you

  gifts—whether vehicles, clothes or jewels—

  be grateful, and make sure he sees you use them.

  “The successful courtier emulates the king

  but never rivals him. Faced with some errand

  he leaps to volunteer; the king’s interests

  must come before those of his own family.

  That is the best way to survive at court.”

  So saying, Dhaumya blessed them yet again.

  Yudhishthira expressed his gratitude

  and the Pandavas set out on the long walk

  to their new place of refuge. They followed

  the winding course of the Kalindi River,

  through Dasharna, then south of Panchala,

  avoiding any towns or villages

  and, after crossing miles of wilderness,

  reached the outskirts of their destination,

  the handsome capital of Virata’s realm.

  Yudhishthira gave the brothers secret names,

  for an emergency, auspicious names

  invoking victory—Jaya, Jayatsena,

  Jayanta, Vijaya and Jayadbala.

  Before the Pandavas entered the city

  they needed to discard their warriors’ weapons.

  On a hill outside the city walls,