Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (29 page)

“And what was it that Indra asked of you

in return for weapons?” asked Nakula.

“He asked me to do battle with his enemies,

demons called the Nivatakavachas,

numbering many millions. They had their home

in a well-defended spot beside the ocean.

Their city was most beautiful for, once,

it had belonged to the chief of gods himself.

He had been driven out by the demons.

Long before, they had acquired a boon:

that the gods would never conquer them.

That was why the powerful Indra sent me,

a human, to wage war on the gods’ behalf.

He gave me impenetrable armor,

and I was well supplied with all the weapons

I had learned from him. Matali drove me

in Indra’s chariot to the demons’ stronghold.

“As we approached, I blew my divine conch

Devadatta
, and the demons streamed

out of their city, thousands upon thousands,

making an ear-shattering din, screaming,

storming toward us, armed with spikes and clubs.

I cut them down with my bow
Gandiva
,

while, with miraculous skill, Matali

swiftly maneuvered the great chariot,

guiding the hundreds of superb bay horses

so they moved as one. Thousands of demons

fell, their severed limbs streaming with blood.

Then they used their powers of wizardry,

creating rain in torrents, showers of rocks,

breath-stopping wind, a darkness so profound

we were quite blinded. Matali fell forward

and seemed to become confused. ‘Surely,’ he cried,

‘the end of the world has come—I have never

lost my wits before, though I have witnessed

the most furious battles ever fought.’

I was gripped by fear myself but, rallying,

I reassured Matali, then summoned

my own powerful weapons. At one point,

when I was almost overcome with terror,

Matali shouted, ‘Use the
Brahma’s Head
!’

So I invoked that most extreme of weapons

and managed to defeat the demon hordes.

Matali told me, ‘Not even the gods

could have fought as well as you, son of Indra.’

“Soon after we had returned to Indra’s realm,

my father crowned me with this diadem.

Then he told me it was time to leave

since you were waiting for me—and with what joy

I am now reunited with those I love!”

The next day Yudhishthira asked Arjuna

to demonstrate the weapons he had used

to conquer the Nivatakavachas.

Arjuna prepared himself, intending

to call up the deadly missiles, one by one.

But hardly had he begun when the ground shook,

the sky grew dull, and everything around

turned icy gray. The Pandavas, appalled,

trembled and covered their faces with their hands.

Then, sent by the gods, the seer Narada

and other seers appeared, with serious faces.

Narada spoke in a voice like thunder,

“Arjuna, you must never do that again.

Those weapons must never be used casually,

on an inappropriate target—or even

one that is suitable, when you could use

some other method to achieve your goal.

Always remember—those missiles, wrongly used,

could mean destruction for the universe.”

For four more years, the Pandavas lived in peace

in the mountains. Now ten years had passed

since their exile had begun. And now Bhima

was once again pressing Yudhishthira.

“We have a task—we should get on with it,”

he complained, as always craving action.

“No question—we will definitely win!”

But Yudhishthira refused as, no doubt,

Bhima knew he would. Nevertheless,

the eldest Pandava saw the time had come

for them to journey to the plain below

in readiness for the fight that lay ahead.

Before leaving high Gandhamadana,

Yudhishthira toured the streams, crags and copses

he had come to love. He looked upward.

“I leave you now,” he said to the silent mountain,

“but when we have regained our stolen kingdom,

I shall return to you, as a penitent.”

The time had come for Lomasha to leave them,

to return to his home in the heavenly realms.

Then, with Ghatotkacha carrying them,

they started their slow descent. Often they camped

for several months in some delightful valley

or mountain ridge. Coming to the foothills,

they dismissed Ghatotkacha and his companions.

The terrain would be easier from now on.

One day, Bhima, who never could stay still,

set off into the woods in search of game.

Rounding a bend, he came upon a snake

larger than any he had ever seen,

yellow as turmeric, with fiery eyes

and fangs that glistened in its hungry jaws.

It seized him in its coils and, though he struggled

with superhuman strength, he could not move.

“Who are you?” he asked the snake, “and how can you

render me helpless as an infant—I,

stronger by far than any mortal man?”

“I am your ancestor Nahusha, doomed

to live as a snake, starving perpetually,

cursed for my woeful disrespect for brahmins.

The curse will only lift when someone answers

the precise questions I shall put to him.

Until that day, I satisfy my hunger

by eating anything I catch—and now,

I shall eat you.”

Wolf-belly replied,

“I don’t blame you. We all have to do

as destiny dictates. But I sorely grieve

for my brothers—without my fighting prowess,

how will they defeat the Kauravas?

And how will my poor mother bear my loss?”

Back at the hermitage, Yudhishthira

noticed disturbing portents. A jackal howled

repeatedly, the southern sky grew red

and a one-footed quail of evil aspect

spat blood, screeching as if in urgent warning.

“Caw! Caw! Go! Go!” shouted a dusky crow.

Yudhishthira, with Dhaumya, the priest,

ran off in search of Bhima. It was not hard

to follow the trail of footprints and smashed trees

where Wolf-belly had passed. They came across him

still pinioned by the snake, and he told them

all that had happened. “Dharma King,” said the snake,

“your brother is my next meal. Nevertheless,

if you can answer my questions correctly

he shall go free.”

“Ask,” said Yudhishthira.

“First, who is a brahmin?” asked the snake.

“Brahmins are those who live by truthfulness,

compassion, generosity, self-control,”

replied Yudhishthira, “those who may attain

knowledge of the supreme Brahman, passing

beyond happiness and unhappiness.”

“The qualities you mention,” said the snake,

“are found even in shudras. Are you saying

brahmins are brahmins not because of birth

but by virtue of their good behavior?

As for a state that somehow goes beyond

sorrow and joy—I doubt that it exists.”

“It is like cold and heat,” answered Yudhishthira.

“They are extremes, but there are many states

between, when we feel neither hot nor cold.

A person’s parentage cannot be known

for certain, therefore it is by their conduct

that we should judge a person’s brahminhood.”

“What you say is true,” replied the snake,

“and conduct must be judged by its effects.

You have answered well. I hardly think

that I could make a meal of your brother now.”

He released Bhima, and Yudhishthira

continued his conversation with the snake

until Nahusha said, “My curse is lifted!

Before, I rode round heaven like a god,

full of pride, drunk with my own importance,

forcing brahmins to pay homage to me.

Now I understand the power of virtue.”

Saying that, he shed his serpent body

and, acquiring a celestial form,

went up to heaven.

You may well imagine

with what relief Bhima was welcomed back,

although the brahmins, anxious for his welfare,

rebuked him for his rashness, and exhorted him

never, ever, to take such risks again.

The long exile entered its twelfth year,

the last in the wilderness. It was the time

of the monsoon, when scorching sun gives way

to bank upon bank of dense, black thunderclouds,

rumbling, clashing, disgorging rain in torrents

to drench the grateful earth. All living beings

feel themselves newborn, and leap, run, fly

more vigorously, according to their natures.

Delighting in the freshness of the earth,

the Pandavas rejoiced to see the lakes

full to the brim with clear and sparkling water,

and fringed with brightly colored water-plants.

Krishna visited them, with Satyabhama,

his chief wife, and, joyfully, the cousins

embraced each other after so long apart.

“Who else but you, Yudhishthira,” said Krishna,

“could have endured your loss so patiently,

keeping to the terms of your cruel exile

despite temptation. But now, friend, the time

is rapidly approaching when your promise

will be fulfilled, and then, O Dharma King,

we shall see your kingdom restored to you!”

Markandeya, the revered ascetic,

arrived just then to see them. Yudhishthira

urged him to speak of the nature of existence,

of humankind’s relation to the gods,

and how it happens that a person’s actions

influence their subsequent rebirth.

The sage spoke to them of the law of karma,

how, when people die, and they are reborn

in another womb, their previous acts

stick to them like a shadow, and determine

whether their next life will be fortunate.

Markandeya told them many stories

from his wealth of knowledge of all the worlds,

and the eldest Pandava, who loved to learn,

sat at his feet. “Tell me the tale,” he said,

“of the seer Manu and the enormous fish.”

“
M
ANU WAS A
great and holy seer,” began Markandeya. “His austerities were unparalleled. For ten thousand years, he stood on one foot, arms raised above his bowed head, beside the famous jujube tree on the bank of the river Virini. One day, a small fish swam up and spoke to him.

“‘My lord,’ it said, ‘I am constantly terrified of being eaten by a bigger fish, for that is the way of things in this world, since time immemorial. Please protect me, and I promise that I will reward you.’

“Manu was filled with compassion. He scooped up the little fish and placed it in a jar of water, where he looked after it as though it were his own child. In time, the fish grew too big for the jar, and Manu took it to a pond and threw it in. In time, it grew so big that it could hardly turn without bumping into the sides of the pond, and it begged Manu to take it to the river Ganga, which he did. There, the fish kept growing, until a time came when Manu had to take it to the ocean and release it there.

“‘My lord,’ said the fish, ‘you have cared for me, and I am grateful to you. Here is some good advice: soon the world will be overwhelmed by a mighty flood, and everything that stands will be destroyed. You should build a sturdy and capacious boat and attach a strong rope to its prow. Then, you must collect the seeds of all the different species in the world and take them aboard the boat, together with the seven wisest rishis. Then wait for me. I shall appear to you as a horned animal.’

“Manu did as he was told. Then the fish appeared with a great horn on its head, and Manu made a loop in the rope and fastened it around the horn. The fish set off at great speed over the billowing and roaring ocean, the boat tossed and danced like a drunken whore, and never did they see a speck of land. Water covered the entire earth. After many years, the fish approached the highest peak of the Himalaya, and there Manu moored the boat. To this day, that peak is called
Naubandhana
, the harbor.

“Then the fish revealed itself as Brahma, lord of beings, and he decreed that Manu should create anew all the creatures that had perished in the flood. And so it happened.”

“Great muni, you have lived through a thousand ages,”

said Yudhishthira, “and witnessed huge events.

You have seen worlds destroyed and re-created.

Please describe how the ages arise and pass,

how they succeed each other in a cycle.”

“I shall do so,” replied Markandeya,

“but first I bow to the Supreme Person,

Krishna, the self-created.

“At the beginning,

in the era known as the Krita age,

human beings mingle with the gods,

moving from earth to heaven as they wish.

They live long lives, pain-free, harmonious,

their every action shaped by righteousness.

But, in time, people become corrupted;

lust arises, and corrosive envy.

Their lives grow short and full of misery,

they fight among themselves, beset by anger;

the gods desert them. Virtue is diminished

by one quarter. That is the Treta age,

which is said to last for three thousand years.

That gives way to the Dvapara age.

Now vice and virtue are mixed half and half.

“Last is the Kali age, a dreadful time

when every kind of evil stalks the earth.

All sense of the sacred fades away.

Vedas are treated with indifference

as people think of nothing but possessions

and make no offerings to their ancestors.

Social differences are swept aside,

brahmins and shudras doing each other’s work.

Greed is universal, with no respect

for morality, or for the natural world.

Sons kill fathers, women butcher husbands.

There is drought, famine, pestilence and death

—until the Krita age comes round again.

“Once, after the end of a Kali age,

in a desolate time between ages,

wandering the earth, and finding nothing

that moved or breathed, only a waste of water,

I came across a towering banyan tree.

On a branch, a tiny child was sitting,

round-faced, radiant and lotus-eyed.

He spoke to me: ‘My friend Markandeya,

I know you are very tired. Rest in me,

enter my body and I shall make space for you.’

He opened his mouth wide, and I found myself

entering it, and suddenly I saw

a world spread out before me—kingdoms, cities,

oceans, rivers alive with gleaming fish,

the dazzling peaks of the Himalaya,

the heavens blazing with bright constellations.

I saw plains, forests, every kind of creature—

I roamed in the body of the great spirit

for more than a hundred years, and never reached

the limit of it. At last I called upon

the being whose world this was. A gust of wind

blew me from his mouth, and the dark-skinned child

was sitting as before. ‘Have you rested

in this body of mine?’ he asked me, smiling.

I took his rosy feet into my hands

and touched them with my head.

“‘O lord of gods,’

I said, ‘why are you here as a little child?

I have seen things beyond my understanding.

Please explain ultimate reality.’

‘I am Narayana,’ replied the child,

‘creator and destroyer of all creatures.

I am Vishnu, Shiva, Yama and all gods.

I am the Placer; I am the Sacrifice.

To sustain the earth, I manifest

at different times as different incarnations;

I take on human form to combat evil

but no one knows me. Understand, brahmin,

that every human quality and impulse—

anger, lust, fear, joy, confusion

as well as duty, truthfulness, compassion—

is an aspect of me. Human beings act

not from free will, but influenced by me.

I alone control the wheel of time.

At the end of each cycle of ages

I am all-destroying Time itself.’

“I remember these great revelations

in all their vividness,” said Markandeya.

“Know that your beloved friend and cousin

is none other than Narayana.

You should place your absolute trust in him.”

The Pandavas made obeisance to Krishna

who acknowledged them affectionately.

“Out of catastrophe,” the seer went on,

“the cycle of time, inexorably turning,

will give rise to a new Krita age.

Led by a brahmin, people will turn again,

in a spirit of devotion, to the gods.”

“What must I do,” asked Yudhishthira,

“to rule justly and protect my subjects?”

“Be compassionate,” said Markandeya,

“treat the people as if they were your children,

honor the gods, and always uphold dharma.

Be humble, and atone for any wrongdoing

with sacrifices. Furthermore, my son,

be decisive, do not let your heart

be weighed down by doubt and hesitation.”

Markandeya gave many more teachings

as his eager listeners sat around him.

When Krishna’s party and the Pandavas

were left alone, the conversation flowed.

There was a wealth of news to be exchanged.

“How are my children—tell me everything,”

asked Draupadi eagerly. Krishna told her,

“Your sons are flourishing. They are virtuous,

strong, and keen on mastering every weapon.

Abhimanyu has been training them

and, for a mother, they have had Subhadra,

who has cared for them devotedly.”

Draupadi and Satyabhama drew aside

to share news and exchange confidences.

“Tell me, Draupadi,” said Satyabhama,

“how do you keep your husbands loyal to you?

They are proud and virile men, yet I notice

that they are never angry with you, always

casting you loving looks. Do you use spells

or potions? Do you practice austerities?

Tell me the secret of your power, so I, too,

may keep Krishna always devoted to me.”

“Questions like these are unworthy of you,

as you know yourself,” replied Draupadi.

“A wife who conjures spells or uses potions

and other such things to ensnare her husband

will never make him happy, nor will she

live peacefully with him. If he finds out,

he will always be suspicious of her—

not a good basis for domestic bliss.

A woman’s husband has to be her god;

that is the law I follow. You know, scripture

teaches us that the way to heaven for women

is simply through obedience to her husband.

Since my marriage, my one and only practice

is to serve my husbands and their other wives

with all my heart and soul. My eyes delight

in no other men but them, in all the world.

From dawn to dusk, I try to meet their needs,

both obvious and subtle. I am always

the first to rise, last to lie down at night.

I do my utmost to cherish each of them

and not to give them cause for irritation.

I pay great attention; I watch over

my reasonable, calm and gentle husbands

as though they were irascible, poisonous snakes.

“When Yudhishthira ruled Indraprastha

I waited daily on my husbands’ mother

and spoke not one word of complaint about her,

nor argued with her, even with good cause.

I saw to every detail of the household.

The king had many thousand serving women,

thousands of slave girls, skilled in the courtly arts.

I knew the name, the attributes, the history

of every one of them. I listened to them.

I laid down the servants’ daily duties

and saw that they were properly performed.

I managed the finances of the household—

I alone knew the particulars

of what the imperial treasury contained.

I cultivated my husbands’ favorites

and blocked the access of their enemies.

“All this is my ‘secret,’ Satyabhama,

nothing devious. By serving my husbands

every minute of my waking life,

regarding them in the most generous spirit,

we live together in harmony and love,

for they, in their turn, love me most sincerely.

Through my devotion, they become devoted.

So my advice is—follow this example;

and, furthermore, delight your husband’s senses

by wearing lovely garments, flowers and perfume.

That is the way to keep Krishna’s affection.”