Mahabharata

by Carole Satyamurti

  I have no hope that I will change the mind

  either of the king or of your cousin.

  But everything that can be done must be done.

  Tomorrow, I will go to Hastinapura.

  I will not beg on your behalf—a kshatriya

  should beg only for victory or death

  on the battlefield. I remember hearing

  how Duryodhana crowed in the gambling hall,

  ‘The Pandavas are well and truly broken,

  they’ve nothing to call their own, even their names

  will disappear in time, leaving no trace!’

  Such a man deserves death, there’s no question.”

  Bhima said, “Don’t threaten him with war.

  Give him every chance, talk gently to him.

  His nature is so violent, he’ll flare up

  at the slightest hint of anger from our side,

  and close the door on peace once and for all.”

  Krishna laughed, “Can this be Bhima speaking?

  All these long years, you have never ceased

  to seethe in rage against the Kauravas.

  How often have you conjured in your mind

  acts of violence against Duryodhana?

  Now it comes to it, are you gripped by panic?

  What you’ve said is as unnatural to you

  as human speech would be to a buffalo!

  Have you become a eunuch? Has a torrent

  become a docile brook?”

  Bhima was hurt.

  “Slayer of demons, you have misunderstood.

  You know me, Krishna. Faced with the need to fight,

  when have you ever seen me hesitate?

  On the contrary, if heaven and earth

  were to collide, I would prize them apart

  with these strong arms. It is only compassion

  that leads me to want peace, if possible.”

  “I was teasing you,” said Krishna, smiling.

  “I see you as much greater, a thousand times

  greater, than you see yourself, Wolf-belly.

  Your strength and courage are beyond question.

  I assure you, I shall make every effort.

  But human action, however well designed,

  may be opposed by the gods. Conversely,

  the gods’ intentions may be overridden

  by the effort of a virtuous individual.

  Therefore, we have to act. For even though

  we may not succeed, or only partially,

  we have to do our best, then accept calmly

  whatever happens. That is true wisdom.”

  Arjuna urged Krishna to do whatever

  he thought helpful at Hastinapura,

  knowing that both sides were dear to him—

  but then to let the Pandava warriors

  plunge into battle and do what they did best.

  Sahadeva, thinking of Draupadi,

  and of the way she had been violated,

  wanted to fight at once. But Nakula

  believed that Krishna, with his tact and skill,

  might yet make the Kauravas see sense.

  So the discussion swung this way and that.

  Some were driven by revenge, while others

  thought more strategically, with the sole aim

  of recovering Yudhishthira’s kingdom.

  There was no doubt what Draupadi was feeling.

  Thinking that even Bhima was wavering,

  she leapt to her feet, trembling with rage.

  “All this talk is driving me mad with grief!

  We know everything we need to know.

  My five strong husbands, my enemy-burners,

  and my brave sons, led by Abhimanyu,

  can trounce the Kaurava. But if they hanker

  pitifully after peace, then my father,

  Drupada, will fight, old as he is,

  and my brother, Dhrishtadyumna, will fight too!

  I’ve waited years for this precious moment—

  I want to see Duryodhana chewing dust.

  I want Karna, that contemptuous man

  who told me I should choose another husband,

  to be dragged through the mud, a mangled corpse.

  I want to see Duhshasana’s evil arms

  torn from his trunk for what he did to me—

  pulling me by this hair of mine, attempting

  to strip me, reduce me to a naked slave.”

  Draupadi gathered up her long black hair,

  a shining cascade, clutched in both her fists.

  “I conjured you in my heart then, Govinda,

  and you helped me—help me again now!”

  In her fury, Draupadi’s hot tears

  showered like liquid fire over her breasts.

  Krishna promised her that if his mission

  proved as fruitless as he thought it would,

  the Kauravas would be gobbled up by Death.

  “How was the journey of the blessed lord,

  and who did he meet along the way?”

  asked Janamejaya. Vaishampayana

  described in detail Krishna’s undertaking.

  Next day, Krishna rose in the early morning.

  It was the harvest season, and the fields

  stood rich in crops, bathed in gentle sunlight.

  After he had performed his morning rites,

  he asked Daruka to prepare his chariot,

  and to load onto it his well-made weapons—

  his bow, discus, mace and javelins—

  as well as hoisting his fine flag, adorned

  with moons, and animals and lovely flowers,

  and the divine standard of Garuda.

  Daruka harnessed the four noble horses,

  freshly washed and groomed, and well rested.

  Then, heartened by prayers and fervent wishes,

  Krishna started toward Hastinapura

  along with Satyaki and other Vrishnis.

  He took a thousand foot soldiers, servants,

  and plentiful provisions for the journey.

  On the way, he encountered Narada

  and other seers, bound for the same city

  intent on witnessing this crucial mission.

  The Kauravas were afraid of Krishna.

  Knowing he was coming, Dhritarashtra

  had arranged elaborate hospitality.

  Along the way, lavish rest pavilions

  had been prepared. But he made his own camp.

  Arriving in the city, he was received

  with every show of pomp and ceremony.

  The king urged many gifts upon him, offering

  palatial accommodation. He declined,

  preferring to be lodged with Vidura.

  Vidura understood the king’s motives.

  “You are hoping that, by your generous gifts,

  you will estrange him from the Pandavas,”

  he said to Dhritarashtra. “If your gesture

  were sincere, you would be offering him

  what he has come for—the settlement he seeks.

  Yudhishthira has asked for five villages,

  and you refuse to give him even those.”

  Kunti was overjoyed to see Krishna,

  to receive news of each son in turn,

  and of Draupadi, whom she dearly loved;

  yet sorrowful, to hear of their sufferings.

  “My life has been a river of misfortune

  ever since my father gave me away

  —a little girl, playing with her ball—

  to his cousin. A few short happy years,

  and then Pandu took us to the forest.

  There my sons were born, and I was content

  for a brief time, watching them grow in strength.

  But then he died, to cast us on the mercy

  of this blind king—with all the misery

  that’s happened since. I’ve always been a good aunt

  to my nephews, but their wickedness

 
; has made me hope and pray they’ll meet their end,

  killed by my heroic sons. Only then

  can we be reunited, and Draupadi—

  abused as no woman ever should be,

  no matter what her birth—will be avenged.”

  Krishna told her the day was not far off

  when she would be united with her loved ones.

  Next, he went to see Duryodhana

  in his large and ostentatious palace.

  Surrounded by his friends, the Kaurava

  pressed Krishna to eat with them. He refused.

  “Why won’t you accept my hospitality,

  offered in friendship?” asked Duryodhana.

  “Food,” said Krishna, “is to be accepted

  either from affection or from need.

  I do not feel affection for you, neither

  am I in need. Envoys do not accept

  homage or hospitality until

  their mission has succeeded. Only then

  will I eat with you, son of Dhritarashtra.

  He who hates the Pandavas hates me.

  This food, offered with venom in your heart,

  is therefore spoiled for me, inedible.

  I prefer to take my meal with Vidura.”

  That night, after dinner, when the servants

  had retired to their beds, and the starry sky

  was radiant overhead, Vidura said,

  “It was useless for you to come, Krishna.

  I fear for you in the assembly hall—

  that the prince and his perverse supporters

  will insult you. Duryodhana’s mind is stone,

  nothing will move him. He has complete faith

  in his advisers—he really does believe

  Karna can kill the Pandavas by himself

  just because he says so! He is befogged,

  the poor fool. But don’t underestimate him.

  He has gathered a formidable army;

  it will not be easy for the Pandavas.”

  “My friend, I know all this,” said Krishna gently,

  “and I appreciate your concern for me.

  But because the rewards of a peace treaty

  would be so great, I have to strive for it.

  If the Pandavas and the Kauravas

  could live in harmony, it would be a blessing

  for all of them, and I would avoid blame

  if I could bring that state of affairs about.”

  The evening passed in profound conversation.

  In the morning, Krishna rose, bathed,

  performed his morning puja, and dispensed

  gifts to the many brahmins in attendance.

  He made sure Daruka had fed the horses,

  groomed them and harnessed them, ready to leave.

  Then Duryodhana and Shakuni came

  to escort him to the assembly hall.

  Krishna greeted them with courtesy.

  In their chariots, flanked by foot soldiers,

  they traveled in procession through the streets

  of Hastinapura, past crowds thronging,

  jostling to catch a glimpse of Krishna,

  cheering in ecstasy. Dark-skinned Krishna,

  swathed in a robe of yellow silk, resembled

  a sapphire in a setting of bright gold.

  The council was assembled. Also present

  were kings and generals of the allied armies,

  splendid in their sumptuous robes and jewels.

  As Krishna entered, all rose to their feet,

  and he noticed, hovering in the sky,

  several seers, headed by Narada.

  At Krishna’s prompting, Bhishma welcomed them,

  offering them fine seats and worthy guest gifts.

  Now, in this assembly of the powerful,

  after the usual formalities,

  addressing Dhritrashtra, Krishna spoke.

  His voice was like a deep and resonant drum,

  reaching the furthest corners of the chamber.

  “Sir, I bring greetings from Yudhishthira.

  He sends respects, and prays for your good health.

  He wishes me to say he bears no grudge

  for what he and his family have suffered

  up to now.

  “But you know why I stand here.

  The house of Bharata has been renowned,

  always, for its honor and probity,

  for its courageous following of dharma,

  which has brought it riches and acclaim.

  But now your sons, led by Duryodhana,

  have brought your great house into disrepute

  by straying into greed, and cruelly

  stripping your nephews of their patrimony.

  This is shameful, king. If you do not check

  your wayward son, catastrophe will follow—

  a war so terrible, the entire clan

  together with their allies on both sides

  will be strewn, lifeless, on the field of battle,

  with no one left to light their funeral pyres.

  I have come here wishing to benefit

  both the Kauravas and the Pandavas.

  If you now follow the righteous course

  it will be for your good as well as theirs.”

  After Krishna had finished his address,

  the eminent seers—Rama Jamadagnya,

  Narada and Kanva—also spoke,

  making the same point through parables,

  stories of pride punished by the gods,

  designed to change Duryodhana’s resolve.

  He sat, stony-faced, quite unmoved.

  Dhritarashtra murmured, “You are right,

  all of you, but I cannot act alone.

  I am powerless—speak to my son.”

  Krishna turned to Duryodhana,

  sitting at his ease, next to Karna,

  and spoke kindly to him. “Best of Bharatas,

  listen to the wisdom of your father,

  and of the elders, not to your misguided

  and malevolent advisers. They may say

  that you can win a glorious victory.

  It is not so. What man on earth but you

  would make enemies of your virtuous cousins—

  and for what? For slaughter and destruction.

  Look at your brothers here, your sons, your allies—

  don’t make them die for you. For die they will.

  You could live in peace with the Pandavas,

  each in your own domain, each enhancing

  the power and prosperity of the other.

  Together, you could be invincible.”

  The king and all the elders lent their voices

  to Krishna’s plea. They summoned up a prospect

  of peaceful times, certain that Yudhishthira

  was sincere in his expressed intention

  to put past cruelties out of his mind.

  “When Krishna returns to Upaplavya,

  why not go with him, son,” suggested Bhishma.

  “Let Yudhishthira take you by the hands,

  and his brothers welcome you with affection.”

  But when Duryodhana stood up to speak,

  his angry breath hissing between his teeth,

  it was clear that nothing he had heard

  had had the least effect. “Long-haired Krishna,

  you are reviling me because you favor

  the Pandavas. You always have. These elders

  are also hostile to me. The fact is

  I have done nothing wrong. Yudhishthira

  came freely to the gambling hall, and lost.

  He paid; and now he wants us to return

  Indraprastha to him.

  “But I maintain

  that the hasty carve-up of the kingdom,

  long ago, was an ill-judged mistake.

  It never should have happened. I was young

  and could not prevent it. In recent years

  I have ruled the entire kingdom a
s proxy

  for my father here. He is the king.

  I am his eldest son, his heir apparent.

  That is how it will stay. The Pandavas

  will not receive a speck of Bharata land,

  not while I’m alive! I’m ready to fight.

  Manliness consists in making efforts—

  striving, never giving in to pressure.

  A kshatriya can have no greater honor

  than to die in the glorious heat of battle.

  If it comes to death, then heaven awaits me.”

  Krishna’s dark eyes shone with mockery.

  “You shall have your wish. You’ll find a hero’s bed

  for certain! There is not a single warrior

  who will see his home again once he rides out

  to battle with the mighty Arjuna,

  unvanquishable even by the gods!

  ‘Nothing wrong’? Don’t think it is forgotten

  how you tried to burn the Pandavas alive,

  how you entrapped them in the gambling hall,

  how you subjected virtuous Draupadi

  to utter humiliation. And you claim

  that you’ve done nothing wrong? Shame, Duryodhana!

  “You say I am partial to the Pandavas

  but I seek what is best for them and you.

  Not one of the wise elders in this hall—

  not Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Vidura,

  not even your own father—takes your part

  in your intransigent malevolence.

  If you act against the best advice

  you will put yourself in the gravest danger.”

  Duhshasana spoke to Duryodhana:

  “Brother, if you don’t agree to peace

  it seems to me that Bhishma and Drona here

  will capture you—and me and Karna too—

  and hand you over to Yudhishthira.”

  Duryodhana, black with rage, sprang to his feet

  and disrespectfully strode from the hall,

  followed by his friends.

  Krishna turned toward

  Bhishma, Drona and the other elders.

  “I call on you now to act—it is your duty.

  Act now, while there is time. A while ago,

  in the prosperous kingdom of the Bhojas,

  I removed an upstart prince, Kamsa,

  who had usurped the throne while his father lived.

  There was civil war. By eliminating

  that one prince, the kingdom was returned

  to peace, prosperity and lawfulness.

  I urge you, revered elders—do the same.

  Bind the perverse prince and his friends, before

  they bring disaster on an unknown scale.

  Sacrifice the few to save the many.”

  Silence. Dhritarashtra, as though deaf,

  made no answer, but sent for Gandhari

  hoping his son would listen to his mother.

  “Dhritarashtra, you are much to blame,”