Mahabharata

by Carole Satyamurti

  brother killing brother. Before long

  there were few survivors, and those few

  were killed by Krishna, instrument of fate.

  The moon rose on mound upon mound of corpses.

  What would happen, now, to all the Vrishni

  women and children—no men to protect them

  against brigands? “Daruka,” said Krishna

  to his charioteer, “go quickly now

  to Hastinapura and seek out Arjuna.

  Give him the news; tell him he should come

  without delay. He will know what to do.”

  Daruka flew off. Then Krishna noticed

  one Vrishni hero, Babhru, was still alive.

  Krishna sent him running to the city

  to report, and to protect the women.

  But Babhru too had been a reveler

  and the sages’ curse caught up with him:

  a massive club hurled by a hidden hunter.

  Krishna perceived that his earthly power

  was waning. He told his brother Balarama

  to go to the forest and wait for him there.

  First, he himself must return to Dvaraka.

  Already news had reached the bereaved city,

  and the streets echoed with the sounds of sorrow,

  fear and confusion. Krishna reassured

  the women, “Arjuna will soon be coming;

  Arjuna will protect you.” Then he went

  to see his aged father for the last time.

  He bent his head to touch Vasudeva’s feet.

  “Father, this slaughter fulfills the sages’ curse.

  The holocaust that has destroyed our people

  is akin to the deaths at Kurukshetra:

  it had to happen. Now my time on earth

  is almost over, and I wish to spend it

  in yoga with Balarama in the forest.

  You must guard the city, until Arjuna

  arrives to take command, as I have asked him.

  Arjuna and I are a single being.”

  Vasudeva assented, broken-hearted.

  Krishna found Balarama among the trees

  sitting in meditation. From his mouth

  a huge, white, red-eyed serpent was emerging,

  the celestial snake which had inhabited

  Balarama’s body until then.

  The snake made its way toward the ocean

  and many distinguished creatures honored it—

  highborn members of the Naga people.

  Then it slithered into the sea and vanished.

  Thus Balarama shed his earthly life.

  Krishna wandered in the peaceful forest

  in profound meditation. He reflected

  on Gandhari’s curse of long ago, and knew

  the time had come for him to leave the world.

  Now, all his tasks had been accomplished.

  He lay down on the ground, closed his eyes,

  and withdrew his senses. A passing hunter,

  taking him for a deer, shot an arrow

  and pierced him in the foot. Running up,

  the horrified hunter saw what he had done.

  No deer lay there, but a dark-skinned man

  in a yellow robe. Krishna blessed him.

  “It was meant to be,” he said—and died.

  The immortal spirit of the blessed Lord

  rose swiftly, lighting up the firmament,

  passing through heavens, worshiped by the gods,

  until he reached his own celestial region,

  inconceivable, ineffable.

  As soon as Arjuna received the summons

  from Daruka, he started off at once

  for Dvaraka. He found the place desolate,

  unnaturally silent. The streets and squares

  of the noble city, formerly vibrant

  with song and color, were empty and forlorn,

  like a lotus pool in the depths of winter.

  Krishna’s sixteen thousand wives and concubines

  were beside themselves. When Arjuna saw them,

  and when he learned that his dear friend was no more,

  he moaned with grief, and sank down on the ground.

  Two of Krishna’s most important wives,

  Rukmini and Satyabhama, raised him

  and made him sit, while the women gathered round

  talking, praising their beloved Krishna,

  finding solace in sharing their distress.

  He went to see his uncle, the old king,

  and the two men wept together. “Arjuna,

  I have lived too long,” cried Vasudeva.

  “Krishna could have acted to prevent

  the sinful self-destruction of our people—

  was he not Vishnu, lord of the universe?

  He refrained from canceling the curses

  uttered by Gandhari and by the brahmins.

  The Vrishnis, influenced by Satyaki

  and Kritavarman, brought it on themselves.

  Now that you have arrived, I can abdicate.

  Food and drink will no longer pass my lips.

  I will withdraw my senses. My earthly life

  is over.” And he closed his eyes for good.

  Arjuna could not imagine living

  in a world that had no Krishna in it,

  but he knew that he must not give way.

  He called a meeting in the assembly hall

  for city dwellers, brahmins and ministers.

  The despair in that hall was palpable.

  “We must act,” said Arjuna. “The sea

  will soon engulf Dvaraka. Everyone

  should gather all their portable belongings

  and prepare the women for departure.

  I will lead you all out of the city

  and escort you to Indraprastha. There

  you may live in safety. Krishna’s descendant

  Vajra will be your king.” Just then a cry

  went up from the king’s palace: Vasudeva

  was dead.

  Arjuna ordered that, straight away,

  the king’s funeral should be carried out.

  Vasudeva had been greatly loved

  and the whole city followed behind his bier

  as it was taken to the cremation ground.

  Shraddha rites were performed for Krishna,

  Balarama and all the dead Vrishnis.

  A few days later, the much diminished clan

  set off in slow procession from Dvaraka—

  thousands of wagons, chariots, elephants

  and well-loaded oxcarts. Women traveled

  in covered carriages with the children

  and old people. To protect the procession,

  the remnant army provided outriders.

  No sooner had the last cart left the city

  than the ocean breached the sea defenses.

  The sky grew black and seemed to be torn in two.

  The planet Mercury swung from its usual course

  and a tempest plowed the foaming ocean

  into troughs and mountainous peaks of water.

  The sea retreated from the land, then, rearing,

  seemed to hang, impossibly still, before

  it crashed forward, a voracious beast

  savaging the city with watery claws,

  devouring streets, squares, palaces and gardens,

  indiscriminate in its appetite.

  The houses of the poor dissolved instantly.

  The mansions of the rich took little longer;

  soon every one of the well-constructed buildings,

  every tower and pinnacle, was drowned.

  It was as if Dvaraka had never been.

  The people stared. Then they turned their backs

  in resignation. The past closed up behind them.

  The stream of sad and weary refugees

  traveled slowly. Each night, they made their camp

  by a source of water, in some pleasant spot.

 
Arjuna was vigilant. He made sure

  that scouts went forward, to spy out the land

  while watchmen were on guard throughout the night.

  At first, all went well. But then they crossed

  into the country of the Abhiras,

  a barbarian land swarming with bandits.

  Sighting the procession, guessing its riches,

  and seeing that Arjuna was the only bowman,

  the army feeble and demoralized,

  the brigands struck. Yelling spine-chilling threats,

  hundreds of ruffians swept down on the party,

  armed with sticks.

  Arjuna, confident

  that he could see them off with his great bow,

  tried to string Gandiva. He only managed

  with a huge effort. Then he tried to summon

  his celestial weapons, but the mantras

  would not come to mind. He loosed some shots

  from his bow, but quickly all his arrows

  were gone. The inexhaustible supply

  had failed. He stared at his empty quivers, then

  lashed out at the robbers with the bow,

  using it as a club. But he watched, helpless,

  as the brigands helped themselves to chests of gold

  and seized many of the women; others

  went with the bandits of their own accord.

  Arjuna understood that his loss of power

  was the work of destiny. The diminished group

  made its way to the city of Indraprastha.

  Many of Krishna’s wives went to the forest

  to end their days in prayer and penances.

  Now that Arjuna had done all he could

  for Krishna’s people, he went to see Vyasa

  in his forest ashram. He broke down in tears.

  Vyasa was brisk with him. “What is the matter?

  Have you killed a brahmin? Have you had sex

  with a woman at the wrong time of the month?

  Why do you look so wan and woebegone?”

  Arjuna told him everything (although

  Vyasa must have known it all already):

  the destruction of the Vrishnis, the death

  of the old king, the drowning of the city,

  his own defeat at the hands of the robber band.

  But, most of all, Arjuna talked of Krishna.

  “How can I live without my friend?” he wept.

  “The world is flat and colorless without him,

  devoid of meaning. What should I do now?

  Tell me, Vyasa!”

  “All this, Arjuna,”

  said Vyasa gently, “is the fruit of time.

  The man, Krishna, was the incarnated

  Vishnu himself, born in time to accomplish

  his divine purpose. Now his work is done

  he has returned to his celestial region.

  You and your brothers were also born on earth

  to play your part in the grand cosmic plan.

  This you have done. Your celestial weapons

  have withdrawn their power. Time provides,

  and time takes away. Time is indeed

  the driver of the universe. And now

  the time has come for you to leave the world.

  That will be best for all of you, Arjuna.”

  Arjuna returned to Hastinapura

  and told Yudhishthira all that had happened.

  XVII & XVIII

  THE BOOKS OF THE FINAL JOURNEY and THE ASCENT TO HEAVEN

  60.

  THE FINAL JOURNEY

  Janamejaya said:

  “Now Krishna was no more, now he had returned

  to his heavenly realm, what did my ancestors

  do then, deprived of their most cherished friend?”

  “I will tell you,” said Vaishampayana,

  “and we are nearly coming to the end

  of great Vyasa’s monumental poem.”

  Having heard Arjuna’s tale, Yudhishthira

  proposed to all his brothers and Draupadi

  that they renounce the kingdom and the world.

  “Time,” he said, “cooks all things in its cauldron.

  We have achieved all that was preordained;

  now there is nothing for us to do on earth.”

  They all agreed. The king sent for Yuyutsu.

  He consented to be the guide and helper

  of Parikshit, who would be the new king.

  With Vajra as the ruler of Indraprastha,

  Yudhishthira felt confident of peace

  and prosperity throughout the kingdom.

  Indeed, in future times, it would be told

  how, under Parikshit, the kingdom prospered.

  Lavish shraddha rites were undertaken

  for Krishna, Balarama, Vasudeva

  and all dead kinsmen of the Bharatas.

  Brahmins were fed, and given generous gifts.

  Kripa was installed as revered guru

  to Parikshit, who would be his disciple.

  When the people heard of the king’s decision

  they were distressed and tried to change his mind,

  but he was firm, and managed to convince them

  that it was for the best. Then he turned his thoughts

  to departure. On the appointed day,

  the five Pandavas and Draupadi,

  clothed in garments of bark, and having fasted,

  left Hastinapura. They were reminded

  of the time so many years before

  when they had left the city in bark clothing

  after the defeat in the gambling hall.

  Then, they were entering miserable exile;

  now, quitting Hastinapura for ever,

  they were at peace, feeling only joy.

  Some citizens escorted them on their way,

  still hoping to persuade them to return.

  But failing, and bidding them a last farewell,

  they turned back to the city, and their new king.

  Only a stray dog stayed with the Pandavas,

  trotting along behind them, keeping pace.

  Traveling on foot, for many months

  they circumambulated the whole land

  of Bharatavarsha, through varied terrain.

  Living austerely, they first turned eastward

  toward the rising sun and the eastern mountains,

  following the course of the mighty Ganga

  to where its waters flow into the sea.

  Arjuna still carried his bow Gandiva,

  and his quivers, once inexhaustible.

  They were useless to him now, but still

  he was attached to them, as to old friends.

  As they approached the coast, a tall figure

  appeared in front of them. “I am the fire god,

  Agni,” he said. “It was I who burned

  the Khandava Forest all those years ago.

  Arjuna, I gave you Gandiva then,

  procured from Varuna, the god of waters,

  and now it is time to give it back to him.

  It will return to earth in another era.

  Like Krishna’s discus, it will be taken up

  to benefit the world.” Then Arjuna,

  standing on a rock, threw his weapons

  out into the ocean, where they sank.

  The Pandavas went on toward the south

  following the shore by the Eastern Ghats.

  Next, they went west and north through many kingdoms

  that once had owed them fealty, unnoticed

  and unrecognized. Eventually,

  they reached the coast where Dvaraka once stood,

  radiant jewel of the western sea

  now submerged beneath its crashing surf.

  The travelers turned inland, heading northeast,

  and still the scruffy dog was at their heels.

  At last, they sighted the majestic outline

  of snowy Himavat, the king of mountains

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sp; dazzling in the sun, known as the source

  of the sacred Sarasvati. They climbed upward,

  ever higher, through the sparkling air.

  In the distance, they could hear the roar

  of rivers tumbling down over the rocks

  through deep ravines. During their twelve-year exile,

  when they had spent time in the high mountains

  consoled by the peace and beauty of the place,

  Yudhishthira had promised to return

  at his life’s end, as a penitent.

  Now, as they walked in a state of meditation

  they passed through groves of flowering plants, surrounded

  by the singing of innumerable birds.

  But they did not stay. Steadfastly they journeyed

  onward toward the pure land of Mount Meru,

  greatest of mountains, home to the mightiest gods.

  Then, as they walked in single file, Draupadi

  fell down, lifeless. “Brother,” exclaimed Bhima,

  “why has she died now, she who was blameless,

  who never did a sinful act?” Yudhishthira

  thought, then said, “She was wife to all of us,

  but she has always favored Arjuna.

  Perhaps that was her sin.”

  They traveled on

  and, after some time, Sahadeva fell.

  “Why?” asked Bhima.

  “Perhaps he was too proud

  of his wisdom,” said Yudhishthira.

  Nakula fell next. “He was righteous

  and intelligent,” said Yudhishthira,

  “but he thought that none could rival him

  in beauty. I suppose that is the reason

  why he has fallen now.”

  Then Arjuna

  fell to the ground and gave up the breath of life.

  “Why Arjuna?” asked Bhima. “I cannot think

  of any time when he spoke untruthfully,

  even as a joke.”

  “He was too proud,”

  replied Yudhishthira. “You remember—

  he boasted that he would defeat our foes

  in a single day. He was contemptuous

  of other archers. That is why he has fallen.”

  Then Bhima fell to the ground. “Why me?” he cried,

  “I want to know.” Yudhishthira replied,

  “You were a glutton; you failed to attend

  to the wants of others. And you were a boaster,

  proud of your mighty arms. But for all of us,

  our death is preordained.” And he walked on

  without looking back, accompanied

  only by the dog.

  After Yudhishthira

  had trudged on through the snow for many days,

  his gaze fixed steadily upon Mount Meru,

  he was exhausted. There was a rushing wind