Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (26 page)

“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.”

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

with a thought, a glance, a word, or with the bow;

and how to call it back. As Arjuna

received
Pashupata
from Lord Shiva,

the earth convulsed, and gods and demons flinched

at the blinding light of the death-dealing weapon.

Then Shiva handed Arjuna
Gandiva
,

his fractured spear and quivers, all restored

and whole; and, with a gesture, healed his wounds.

He left, to travel with his consort, Uma,

to his eternal dwelling in the skies.

Other gods appeared, the world guardians—

Yama, god of death, came from the south,

Varuna from his ocean realm, Kubera,

lord of treasures, arrived from the glittering snows

of Mount Kailasa. Saluting Arjuna,

each gave weapons to the Pandava

and foretold victory in the coming war.

Last came Indra, proud of his son, insisting

that Arjuna should sample the delights

of Amaravati, his sky domain

above the clouds. He sent his charioteer,

Matali, to transport the Pandava

in a resplendent chariot, fast as wind,

drawn by many thousands of bay horses,

and carrying a lovely night-blue banner.

Only one who had performed austerities

of the most rigorous kind could even see

this glorious vehicle, still less ride in it.

They traveled through worlds where no sun or moon

ever shone, but where perfected seers

and those who had died heroically in war

rode on wonderful free-flying chariots

lit by illumination of their own,

and swooped about the sky, blazing with virtue,

taking delight in each other’s company.

When at last they reached Amaravati,

the mighty son of Kunti was amazed

by all he saw—such breathtaking palaces,

shining towers, the garden, Nandana,

with its shade-giving trees, laden with blossom,

where sweet-perfumed breezes caressed his skin.

He was welcomed by thousands of gandharvas

and apsarases. Great Indra himself

placed Arjuna on the throne at his side.

A white parasol was held above him;

Indra stroked his face, and his strong arms

scarred by the frequent lashing of the bowstring.

The lionhearted Pandava was enchanted

by all he saw. But never for a moment

did he forget the purpose of his quest.

Arjuna passed five years in Indra’s heaven

enjoying the affection of his father.

He learned to master many divine weapons,

studying their diverse applications

and how to call them back. Indra gave him

his own sacred weapon, the thunderbolt,

placing it solemnly in the hero’s hands

and teaching him the esoteric mantra

which would awaken it in time of need.

He learned many forms of skill and wisdom

from the celestial beings of the court.

Gandharvas, the heavenly musicians,

taught him how to sing, and play, and dance—

strange skills for a warrior, but they knew

that he would need them if the Pandavas

were to survive their final exiled year.

Chitrasena was his music teacher,

a gandharva king, who soon became

Arjuna’s good friend and close companion.

One day, the great ascetic Lomasha

came to visit Indra, and was astonished

to see Arjuna, a mortal, seated

on Indra’s throne. The chief of gods explained,

“Arjuna is the ancient seer Nara,

companion of the seer Narayana,

incarnated as my son, and born

to save Earth from demonic tyranny.

But before he goes back to the world,

I have a task for him. Now, Lomasha,

I wish you to seek out the Pandavas,

give them news of Arjuna, reassure them.

Tell them to undertake a pilgrimage

to the sacred bathing places. You go with them

to keep them safe, for they may encounter

dangers.”

“I shall do it,” said Lomasha.

What was the task that Indra now required

of Arjuna? In return for the weapons

he had been taught by his immortal father,

Indra asked him to make war against

powerful Nivatakavacha demons.

Later, when the brothers were reunited,

Arjuna would tell them the whole story,

making their hair stand up, their blood run cold.

Meanwhile, through his spies, Dhritarashtra

had been informed of Arjuna’s achievements

and was greatly dismayed. He lamented

over and over to his aide Sanjaya,

dwelling on the terrifying wrath

the Pandavas would certainly unleash

upon the Kauravas. “My witless son,

insane and evil-minded as he is,

has stirred up a holocaust—for war

will surely come, a war we cannot win.

No one on this earth can defeat Arjuna—

not Karna, not Bhishma, and not Drona,

certainly not my son. Already I see

the whole Kaurava army broken, shattered.

How crass it was to summon Draupadi

to the gaming hall, and so insult her

that nothing will appease her husbands’ fury

except blood. Oh, why did Duryodhana

not listen to my advice? He seems to think

that my lack of sight also deprives me

of any claim to wisdom. But I have

the eyesight of insight—I foresee it all,

all the consequences of his actions,

in frightful detail. I should have attended

to Vidura’s advice, but Duryodhana

pressed me.”

“That is the truth,” said Sanjaya.