Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (27 page)

“You could have stopped the game; but you did not.”

At their forest camp in the Kamyaka,

the Pandavas were growing weary, pining

for Arjuna, impatient for his return.

The sky itself seemed empty of the sun;

the forest glades appeared less beautiful.

One day, as they sat together, sighing

to think of Arjuna, and of the kingdom

they had lost, their days of happiness,

Bhima reproached Yudhishthira. “How could you

agree to let him go? Who knows what dangers

he’ll encounter on his perilous mission—

perhaps he’ll die! How could we live without him?

How will we fight the wicked Kauravas

mightily armed, fully geared up for war

without the Terrifier by our side?

Why should we sit here, endure our rage

fettered, inactive, while every single day

the undeserving sons of Dhritrashtra

grow in strength, led by the powerful Karna.

This is no life at all!”

Yudhishthira

tried to soothe his brother. “I promise you

that you will have your chance, but only when

it is the proper time.”

At that moment,

a visitor arrived, Brihadashva,

a holy man. When he had been welcomed,

Yudhishthira confided in the rishi

all his troubles—how he had lost his kingdom

through rash gambling. “Sir, I do not think

a man was ever as miserable as I.”

“Yudhishthira,” said the sage, “you’re not alone

in having lost all you owned through gambling.

Let me tell you the story of King Nala.

“
T
HERE ONCE WAS
a king called Nala, strong, beautiful, thoughtful and virtuous. He was devout, a good friend to brahmins, and fearless in battle. He was generous and fair-minded, and his people loved him. In a neighboring kingdom lived Damayanti, daughter of King Bhima, as renowned for her beauty and good character as Nala was for his. The two had never met but their reputations were carried on the wind, and they fell in love with each other, sight unseen.

“Nala took to haunting the woods near Damayanti’s home, hoping, but failing, to get a glimpse of her. One day, he caught a wild goose, and was just about to kill it when the bird spoke up in human language. ‘Spare my life,’ said the bird, ‘and I shall do you a kindness. I shall speak to Damayanti about you, so eloquently that she will never even think of another man.’

“The goose did as he had promised, and Damayanti grew so pale and sad from longing for Nala that her father decided she should be married. He arranged to hold a svayamvara for her, to which kshatriyas from far and wide were invited. So famous was she for her beauty that even some of the gods decided to compete for her hand.

“On his way to the svayamvara, Nala met the world guardian gods—Indra, Yama, Varuna and Agni—traveling in the same direction. They insisted that he act as their envoy in winning Damayanti. When Damayanti came to hear of this, she vowed that she would choose Nala but, on the day, she was confronted with a choice between five identical candidates, all looking like Nala. She begged the gods to honor her commitment to Nala, and they consented, resumed their divine forms and gave their blessing to the couple.

“As the gods made their way back to their celestial abodes, Indra encountered Kali, traveling with Dvapara to the svayamvara. When Indra told him that the event was over, Kali became enraged. After the gods had gone, he swore vengeance on Nala. ‘I shall take possession of that fortunate king, and you, Dvapara, must enter the dice and help me.’

“At first, Nala and Damayanti lived in total bliss together, each of them as devoted to duty as they were to love. But one day Nala forgot to wash his feet before performing the evening prayers, and this enabled Kali to enter into him. Driven by Kali, Nala accepted the invitation of his brother, Pushkara, to play at dice. Nala had always been fond of playing, in moderation, but now a madness entered his heart and he became obsessed, addicted to the game. The more he lost, the more passionately he played, and in the fullness of time, he lost everything he possessed, including his kingdom, to his brother. Neither Damayanti’s pleas nor those of his subjects were able to put a stop to Nala’s folly.

“At last, Nala was destitute. His charioteer, Varshneya, took the couple’s two children to live with Damayanti’s parents in the city of Vidarbha, and Nala and Damayanti, with only the clothes they stood in, were forced to wander out into the world, friendless and hungry. Soon, tricked by Kali, Nala lost even his one garment. He was full of remorse at the misery he had brought upon Damayanti and, one night, driven by the demon inside him, and reasoning that, without him, she would find her way back to her family, where she would be better off, he crept away into the forest while she was asleep—having first cut away half of the garment she was wearing, in order to cover himself.

“At first, Damayanti could not believe that he had gone, and searched behind every tree and bush, weeping piteously. For days and weeks she wandered, calling Nala’s name. ‘Oh, my lord, bull among men, strong-armed ruler of your people, how could you leave me? I am your wife. Remember how you said no one was dearer to you than me? Answer me, beloved husband!’ As she wandered, she asked every creature she met whether they had seen Nala. She asked the birds in the trees, the fish in the river, the lordly elephants, even the mountain peaks, and the fierce tiger, king of the forest. She approached the brahmin ascetics who lived in those parts. She asked a passing caravan of merchants. None of them had come across her husband, but the brahmins predicted that she and Nala would be reunited. She begged everyone she met to make inquiries as they went about their travels.

“At last, in her wanderings, she came to a large city, the city of the Chedis, and found a place there as a chambermaid to the king’s mother, who was kind to her.

“Nala, meanwhile, wandering in the forest, had come upon a forest fire, in the midst of which was an enormous snake. ‘Please save me!’ cried the snake. ‘I am afflicted by a curse, unable to move from here. Save me, and I will do you good. I will make myself light so you can carry me.’ The snake shrank until it was no larger than a thumb, and Nala carried it to a place of safety. He was about to let the snake go when it said, ‘Continue walking, and count your steps as you go.’ At the tenth step, the snake bit him, whereupon his appearance changed and he became deformed.

“‘My poisonous bite will cause great pain—not to you, but to the creature who dwells inside you. You should now go to the city of Ayodhya, where you should enter the service of King Rituparna, as a charioteer. He knows the arcane secret of the dice game.’ Nala traveled to that city, and presented himself to the king as Bahuka, expert with horses. The king engaged him. Nala’s own former charioteer, Varshneya, was working there, but did not recognize him, altered as he was.

“By this time, Damayanti’s identity had been discovered by the mother of the king of the Chedis, and she had been accepted with great joy. Grateful though she was, Damayanti decided to go back to her father’s kingdom, and be reunited with her children. There, she continued to pine for her husband. Search parties were sent out far and wide, inquiring after Nala, everywhere asking the same question:

‘Former king whose wits deserted you,

Former ruler whose kingdom was lost to you,

Former husband whose wife now weeps for you,

Will you return to the woman who loves you?’

But, for a long time, there was no news.

“Then a brahmin messenger returned from a visit to Ayodhya, and reported a conversation with a deformed man of the court, who had wept when he heard the question, and the story behind it. Damayanti became convinced that this must be Nala. With her mother, she devised a plan. A message was sent to the king of Ayodhya, announcing that Damayanti was to hold a svayamvara, in order to choose a second husband. The event was to happen on the following day. Eager to attend, the king told Bahuka (Nala) to prepare horses for the journey—horses capable of reaching Vidarbha within a day—though when he saw Bahuka’s choice, he doubted that it was possible. Bahuka was confident, however.

“The chariot set off, racing as fast as the wind. As they traveled, the king said, ‘See that tree? The difference between the number of leaves and nuts that hang from it and the ones that have fallen to the ground is one hundred and one.” Bahuka was astonished, and when he stopped the chariot to count the leaves and nuts, he found that the king was correct.

“‘I have a facility with numbers,’ said the king. ‘And I know the secret of the dice.’ Bahuka proposed that the king teach him that secret, in return for his teaching the king the secret of horses. The king agreed. ‘Since we are pressed for time, you can teach me the secret of horses later, but I shall teach you the secret of the dice as we travel.’ The king did so and, at that moment, Kali left Nala’s body, the curse was lifted and Nala resumed his previous handsome form.

“Damayanti, waiting with beating heart, heard the thunder of an approaching chariot. ‘It must be my beloved!’ she exclaimed, ‘No one makes a chariot roar as Nala does.’ As she watched from an upper window, she saw her father welcome the king of Ayodhya—as puzzled by this unexpected visit as was the king of Ayodhya, to find that there was no svayamvara.

“Explanations were given, misunderstandings were ironed out, and, at last, Nala and Damayanti were reunited as husband and wife. Two matters remained. Nala taught the king of Ayodhya the secret of horses. And he challenged his brother to a dice game, and won back his kingdom and all his wealth.

“So, Yudhishthira,” said Brihadashva,

“even after losing everything,

a person may regain his former fortune.

Now I shall teach you the secret of the dice

so you will never lose a game again.”

On his mission from the chief of gods,

the ancient seer Lomasha, passing freely

from one world to another, came to visit

the Pandavas in the Kamyaka Forest.

“Please explain to me,” Yudhishthira asked him,

“why the wicked prosper, while such as I,

who strive to follow virtue, have to suffer?”

Lomasha said, “If you take the long view

the wicked do not flourish. They are like plants

with showy flowers but weak and shallow roots.

The virtuous are well grounded in dharma

and, through devoted discipline, they weather

bad times and good, seeing them as the same.

Like the demons before them, wicked people

lose direction, and fall prey to discord.

Given to restless searching after pleasure,

true and lasting happiness eludes them.”

To allay their anxiety and longing,

Lomasha had brought news of Arjuna

and a proposal: while he was away,

his brothers should set out on pilgrimage

touring the fords on the sacred rivers,

and Lomasha would go along with them.

They were all delighted by the plan.

The spiritual benefits of pilgrimage

had been explained to them by Narada.

For those without the means for sacrifices,

and for anyone, of any station,

pilgrimage was a way to free oneself

from the fruits of previous misdeeds—

provided one approached the undertaking

in a spirit of self-discipline.

For the restless and unhappy Pandavas,

a pilgrimage would give a change of scene

and purify them for the times ahead.

Dhaumya, their priest, proposed a route.

First they would travel east, to the Naimisha,

and to Gaya, for the seasonal sacrifice;

then south, where they would visit the great seer

Agastya; then west, to the sacred fords

on the river Narmada; and, finally,

they would travel north to bathing places

on the Sarasvati and Yamuna.

Yudhishthira told most of his entourage—

brahmins and citizens who had stayed with him—

to go back to the city. But some brahmins

wished to remain, to join the pilgrimage.

The party set off eastward. On their way,

wise Lomasha recounted many tales,

some of them serious, some entertaining,

all of them instructive. They encountered

other seers, and drank in their stories too.

At every sacred ford, they bathed and worshiped

and their spirits were wonderfully refreshed.

The party made a stop for several days

beside the sparkling river Kaushiki.

At Yudhishthira’s request, Lomasha

told them the story of Rishyashringa,

whose hermitage they could see close at hand.

“
A
BRAHMIN SEER
of great repute was bathing in the water of Lake Mahahrada when his glance fell upon the apsaras Urvashi, and his seed spurted from him. It fell into the water and was swallowed by a doe which was drinking there. In due time, the doe gave birth to a boy who bore a horn on his head. He became the ascetic Rishyashringa. He grew up in the forest and, except for his father, he never set eyes on another human being. His reputation for austerity and virtue spread far and wide.

“In the nearby kingdom of Anga, no rain had fallen for years. Indra, god of rain, had withheld his favor on account of the bad behavior of the ruler, Lomapada, toward brahmins. Even Lomapada’s household priest had left him. He was advised that if he could persuade Rishyashringa, the great ascetic, to come to his kingdom, rain would surely follow.

“Lomapada made his peace with the brahmins, and performed rituals of expiation for his past bad deeds. Then, with his ministers, he devised a plan: specially chosen courtesans would be sent to the forest to entice the seer to come to Anga. The courtesans were reluctant to oblige, however, fearing the ascetic’s curse. But an older woman among them took charge of the enterprise. She prepared a lovely hermitage that floated on the water near the ascetic’s home, and installed herself there with the most beautiful and accomplished of the courtesans, her daughter, who was known for her cleverness.

“The girl presented herself before Rishyashringa as a student of the Vedas, and inquired after his well-being. ‘Sir,’ she said, ‘I hope your austerities are proceeding well, and that nothing is interfering with the performance of your vows.’ The young man was astonished by her appearance. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘your radiant looks, almost like a god, must mean that you yourself are prospering. Tell me what discipline you follow. Where is your hermitage? Let me honor you and give you water to wash your feet.’

“‘I should rather honor you,’ said the girl. ‘In my hermitage we pay respect by enfolding the honored person in our arms.’ This she did, and with great gaiety, offered the young man delicious food and drink, and played ball with him, laughing and pressing herself against his body. Then, saying that she had a religious duty to attend to, she walked away. Rishyashringa was left in a state of intoxicated bewilderment. When his father came home he told him what had happened, describing the divine-looking stranger.

“‘Father, he looked like a god, with beautiful braided hair, and a curving body. His voice was melodious as a cuckoo’s, and in front of him hung two soft globes. When he touched me, I was filled with rapture, and now that he is gone I can think of nothing else. I want to go to him.’

“‘Son, that must have been a rakshasa,’ said the father, keen to protect his son’s innocence. ‘They take on beguiling shapes to tempt us away from the right path. They are to be avoided at all costs.’ The father went in search of the ‘rakshasa,’ and was away for three days. But meanwhile, the lovely courtesan returned, and enticed Rishyashringa to accompany her. He did so willingly, and was taken to Anga, where he was housed in the women’s quarters. The ruler gave his daughter, Shanta, to him as his wife, and bestowed wealth and lands on him. After this, the rains were plentiful.

“Rishyashringa’s father was furious at first, but was then reconciled, on condition that his son would return to the forest once Shanta had given birth to a son. This he did, and he and Shanta lived together in the forest, in great happiness.”

They journeyed on, following the east coast

south, then round the tip of the peninsula

before turning north. They stopped at Prabhasa,

near the sea-girt city of Dvaraka,

where Yudhishthira performed austerities.

While there, they were visited by Krishna

and his Vrishni kinsmen, who were most distressed

by the Pandavas’ reduced condition.

“How did those good men pass time together?”

asked Janamejaya. Vaishampayana

told the king about the friends’ discussions:

“What justice is there,” exclaimed Balarama,

“if the wise and virtuous Yudhishthira

sits here, filthy and emaciated,

while his enemies enjoy prosperity?”

“The Kauravas should be attacked at once!”

said Satyaki. But Krishna disagreed.

“Neither Yudhishthira nor his brothers

will ever swerve from dharma. The day will come

when they will defeat Duryodhana,

for sure; but that day has not yet arrived.”

The Pandavas stopped at many sacred fords

where they paid reverence, gave gifts to priests,

immersed themselves and performed penances.

They reached the place on the river Yamuna

where Mandhatri, the great archer, worshiped,

and Lomasha told the story of his birth:

“
A
WORTHY KING
, Yuvanashva, had no son, despite performing a thousand horse sacrifices, and a great many other rituals, accompanied by generous gifts to priests. He retired to the forest and pursued a life of harsh discipline.

“One night, he entered the hermitage of the great seer Bhrigu, and, finding no one awake, and feeling very thirsty, he drank water from a jar he saw there. It happened that, that very day, the seer and his companions had conducted a ritual whose purpose was to obtain a son for Yuvanashva. They had filled a jar with water and purified it with incantations, with a view to the king’s wife drinking it. This was the water which the king had now drunk.

“When Bhrigu discovered what had happened, he was first dismayed, then philosophical. ‘It must have been ordained. The water was infused with powerful spells, earned by rigorous discipline. Now you have drunk it, you yourself will bear a virile and god-like son.’

“And so it happened that, after a hundred years, King Yuvanashva’s side split open and a splendid infant emerged. Fortunately, the king did not die. Indra came to see him and gave the baby his forefinger to suck. In honor of this, he was named Mandhatri. The boy grew tall and beautiful, and became an accomplished archer.”

At every ford the Pandavas visited,

Lomasha instructed and entertained them,

pointing out the history of the place

and telling stories. By Lake Manasa,

he told the tale of Indra and King Shibi:

“
T
HE KING OF
the Shibis was so devout that his sacrifices rivaled those of the gods. In order to test him, Indra, chief of gods, and Agni, the god of fire, devised a plan. Indra took the form of a hawk and Agni that of a dove which, fleeing from the predatory hawk, took refuge on the king’s lap.