Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (20 page)

All around it stretched lush pastureland

well stocked with plump and healthy herds of cattle.

They made their way into the king’s palace,

entering unannounced, by a back-door route

for, in view of their murderous intentions,

it would not be right to receive the welcome

due to brahmins. Then they sought an audience

with Jarasandha. The king was astonished

when he realized who these “brahmins” were.

“Understand,” said Krishna, “we are here

to rescue all those blameless kshatriyas

whom you have wickedly incarcerated

in your dungeons. Either you let them go

or we will force you.”

“What are you thinking of,”

said Jarasandha, “talking such brainless nonsense?

I have never offended you. I have done

nothing wrong—those kings I have imprisoned

were all captured fairly by me, in battle.

Therefore, their lives are now at my disposal.

That is kshatriya dharma—how could I now

quietly let them go when I have vowed

to sacrifice them, in honor of the god?”

“Your view of kshatriya dharma is perverted,”

replied Krishna. “How can you propose

to slaughter brave men as though they were beasts?

It is obscene. We therefore challenge you.

Which of us three do you choose to fight?

Which of us will send you to Yama’s realm?”

“Deluded Yadava!” growled Jarasandha.

“I’ll take on Bhima—let him fight with me.”

Then each warrior put on his battle garments

and, shouting insults, the two massive men

set to, seizing each other with bare hands.

Sweat poured off them as they roared and grunted,

each pounding the other with rock-like fists.

Their cries struck dread into all who heard them.

They grappled, clutched, pulled out each other’s hair,

strangled, twisted, kicked. But they were matched

exactly, so the fight went on for day

after day, night after night, until

on the fourteenth day, Jarasandha

was exhausted. The chivalrous way forward

would have been to allow him time to rest

and then resume the fight. But Krishna said

meaningfully to Bhima, “Son of the Wind,

a tired opponent should not be attacked

or he
may even die
.” Bhima resolved

to muster every effort there and then

to finish Jarasandha. He grabbed his ankles

and whirled him in the air a hundred times.

Then he placed the helpless king across his knee

and broke him in two. Jarasandha was dead.

His son succeeded him, and pledged loyalty

to King Yudhishthira. The royal captives

were released from their prison underground;

all swore allegiance to the Dharma King.

Krishna commandeered the dead king’s chariot

fast as the wind, drawn by celestial horses—

the very one in which Indra and Vishnu

had once slaughtered ninety-nine danavas.

It shone with dazzling gold, and upon it

was mounted a tall flagpole. With a thought,

Krishna summoned Garuda, terrifying

celestial eagle, scourge of snakes, to be

the living banner for his chariot.

Henceforth, hearing the bird’s unearthly cries,

Krishna’s enemies would be struck witless,

the blood freezing instantly in their veins.

With Jarasandha dead, Yudhishthira

had to secure tribute and allegiance

from the remaining kings of Bharatavarsha.

Then he could perform the Rajasuya,

becoming emperor, the lord of lords,

freeing his father from the realm of Death.

Northward, eastward, to the south and west

rode Yudhishthira’s four younger brothers

with their armies. Their mission: to secure

the acknowledgment of every ruler

in Bharatavarsha that Yudhishthira

was their sovereign lord; and to obtain

wealth from them, in kind, gold or jewels,

by way of loyal tribute. Here and there

they met with opposition. Some with grudges,

and some too proud to bear subordination,

took up arms against the Pandavas.

Arjuna rode north, with a huge army.

The ground shook with the thunder of the drums,

the rumbling chariot wheels, the marching tread

of well-trained infantry. At his approach

many kings gave in without a fight,

and came to meet Arjuna, bringing tribute

and swearing fealty to Yudhishthira.

Others resisted, but were quickly smashed,

often with devastating loss of life.

In this manner, Arjuna pressed on,

then, after subduing the snowy regions

of the Himalaya, slowly traveled back

to Indraprastha.

Bhima journeyed east,

conquering as he went. The king of Chedi,

Shishupala, hearing of his approach,

rode out to meet him and made him most welcome.

He was a cousin both of the Pandavas

and of Krishna. He agreed to honor

Yudhishthira as supreme ruler. Bhima

stayed a month with him as his honored guest.

Then he went on to subjugate the Kashis,

the Vatsas, and many other kingdoms

before arriving back in Indraprastha

laden with tribute.

Sahadeva went south.

The dark-skinned peoples of the peninsula

resisted domination by the north;

so did the tribal peoples of the forests

around the coast. Sahadeva conquered

all those kingdoms, systematically.

Some kings surrendered, knowing their own weakness.

They paid their dues, and promised to attend

the coming consecration at Indraprastha.

Sahadeva came at last to the shore

where two oceans meet, and stared across

to where he knew the isle of Lanka lay

beyond the hazy sweep of the horizon.

He sent a message to King Vibhishana

requiring tribute, and inviting him

to travel to the coming Rajasuya.

Nakula too returned to Indraprastha

with trains of elephants and lumbering oxen

and ten thousand camels heaped with treasure.

He had subdued kingdoms to the west,

and received the formal acknowledgment

of Krishna, on behalf of the Yadavas.

No obstacle remained. Yudhishthira

could now be consecrated king of kings,

all-powerful emperor, lord of the earth.

He asked Dhaumya to appoint the day

most auspicious for the ceremony

and issued invitations to the kings

who owed him fealty. With great forethought,

he made a point of asking Nakula,

tactful and modest as his brother was,

to go to Hastinapura, conveying

his brother’s deep respect and to request

each member of his uncle’s house by name

to attend the royal consecration—

“Not as ordinary guests,” said Nakula,

“but as beloved members of the family

sharing in the sacrifice. Yudhishthira

wanted me to say to you that his wealth

is the wealth of all the Bharatas.”

Meanwhile,

hectic preparations were in train.

A beautiful enclosure was erected

with a high altar at one end of it.

The sacred fire was burning night and day.

Priests especially expert in the Vedas

were brought in by Vyasa, and appointed

to carry out the several distinct stages

of the ceremony. Ritual implements

were assembled. A wooden jar stood ready

in which waters from many holy rivers

and lakes were blended. The jar had been exposed

to the direct rays of both sun and moon;

the precious liquid would be called upon

at the climax of the great event.

Every arrangement for the well-being

and comfort of the guests was put in place;

not the slightest detail was forgotten.

Splendid pavilions, splendidly equipped,

were built, with sumptuous furnishings, cool gardens.

Each room was made sweet with the scent of flowers.

The scale of the provision was stupendous—

immense amounts of food of every kind;

gifts and meals for the thousands of brahmins

who would assist at the ceremony

over many days; costly new garments

for every phase of the consecration;

rice, ghee, as oblations for the gods;

feasts for the citizens of Indraprastha;

gifts for the kings; and much, much more besides.

The day approached. Guests started to arrive

bringing tribute on an enormous scale

to convey their respect for Yudhishthira,

the Dharma King, he who governed justly,

Ajatashatru, he without enemies,

he whose kingdom prospered, whose people loved him.

Each guest thought of his own gift as crucial

to the success of the great sacrifice.

Duryodhana, his brothers and the elders

arrived, and were warmly welcomed by the king.

What were Duryodhana’s thoughts as he surveyed

the city he had heard so widely praised:

the splendid palaces, broad avenues

and lovely parkland—even more impressive

than he had imagined? Whatever they were,

he wore a smile, all affability,

as if delighted by everything he saw.

Yudhishthira invited all his kinsmen

to take posts of responsibility

for different aspects of the huge occasion.

Bhishma and Drona were his chief advisers.

Vidura was paymaster. Duryodhana

was given charge of the receipt of gifts,

and had to witness the cascades of wealth,

the gold and jewels like a glittering stream

pouring and tumbling into the royal coffers.

The ceremony took its stately course.

Narada, observing with contentment

the seal set on Yudhishthira’s achievement,

remembered hearing, in the realm of Brahma,

the story of the partial incarnation:

of how the gods would take on human form

to counteract the overweening power

of the kshatriyas. He looked at Krishna,

knowing him to be the embodiment

of great Narayana, the self-created.

He glanced at the Pandavas, each brother

the offspring of a god. He was aware

of what had been ordained for all of them.

It was the last day of the sacrifice.

Yudhishthira would become emperor

at the moment when the sacred water

was poured over his head. But before that,

gifts should be given to the assembled kings.

It was his task to choose and call upon

the most illustrious and worthy guest

to be named formally as guest of honor.

His would be the first guest-offering.

At Bhishma’s instigation, he chose Krishna,

friend, blood relative, wise counsellor.

“This man,” said Bhishma, “is to other men

what the sun is to other heavenly bodies,

outshining them by far in energy,

wisdom and prowess as a kshatriya.”

Then Sahadeva solemnly presented

Krishna with the finest guest-offering.

At once, the massive King Shishupala,

the Bull of Chedi, with a face like thunder,

leapt to his feet bellowing in protest,

glaring in fury at Yudhishthira.

“What an outrage! Look around this hall,

just cast your eyes on these illustrious monarchs

sitting here, all slighted by your choice.

Here are the greatest warriors in the land,

the most distinguished elders, wisest gurus.

Here are Drona, Kripa, Vyasa, Vidura—

here is Krishna’s father, Vasudeva,

yet you choose to bypass him, to honor

his unworthy son! By any standard

dozens of men sitting beneath your roof

deserve the honor more. Krishna here

is not even a king. By choosing him

you have insulted every one of us,

forfeiting the esteem that brought us here.

Perhaps you see him as your priest, or teacher.

Even so—how can you prefer this man

when Drona and Dvaipayana are present?

“What has he done that’s so remarkable?

Killed a vulture when he was a child!

Lifted a mountain no bigger than an anthill!

How does this sinful killer of cows and women

deserve the choicest gift? It’s favoritism!

In praising him, you are devaluing dharma.

“And you, Krishna—you should be ashamed

to take the token offered. You’re like a dog

that grabs some choice tidbit from the oblation

intended for the gods, and gobbles it!”

Shishupala stalked toward the exit,

followed by several disgruntled kings.

Yudhishthira called after him, “My lord,

what you have said is neither kind nor fair,

and insults Bhishma’s judgment—you suggest

he doesn’t understand what virtue is.

You do not know Krishna as Bhishma does.

Krishna is our guide; his inspiration

lies behind everything we have achieved.

Through us, he has conquered every king

who sits in the hall today, by force of arms

or by capitulation. For this alone

the highest accolade is due to him.”

Bhishma added, “We behold in Krishna

the source of everything that’s valuable.

As Mount Meru is the greatest mountain,

as the eagle is the lord of birds,

as the ocean is deepest among waters,

so is Krishna foremost among beings

in all the worlds, past, present and to come.

Good people everywhere pay tribute to him.

Contained within him is the universe,

its origins, its being and its end.

“The King of Chedi wallows in ignorance

and sees only the surfaces of things.

As for those kings he thinks deserve more praise

than Krishna—they are mere straw effigies.”

Sahadeva rose to his feet, eyes flashing.

“If there is any person in this place

who still disputes Krishna’s entitlement,

let him speak. I place this foot of mine

on his dimwitted and unworthy head!

And if any man desires an early death,

let him challenge Krishna to a duel.”

There was a furious muttering in the hall,

a stirring and billowing, like an angry sea.

Many present felt themselves entitled

to the honor of the first guest-offering.

The tide was turning against Yudhishthira,

whose consecration was not yet complete.

Even now, those present might refuse

to acquiesce to his imperial rule.

Shishupala’s copper-red eyes flashed

in anger. “Bhishma, you’re a senile fool.

How can the Bharatas respect your views

when you have shied away from a man’s life?

Celibate, whether it’s from impotence

or poor judgment, you have done great harm.

By abducting Amba and refusing

to marry her, you ruined that girl’s chances.

You caused the blighted lives of your own kin

when you would not sire sons by your brothers’ wives.

“Old, unworthy wretch—you only remember

what’s convenient. This Krishna here,

this crook, has grossly violated dharma.

What about my friend Jarasandha,

who never wanted war, yet Krishna killed him?

What about my intended bride, Rukmini,

whom Krishna stole?”

Bhishma exclaimed, “For sure

this foolish man has been marked out by fate

for destruction!” Bhima, incandescent

with rage, was about to fall on Shishupala