Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (32 page)

“Satyavat put the fruit he had collected in a sack, and started to split firewood. Suddenly, he exclaimed, ‘Oh, my head is hurting terribly, as if it is pierced with knives! I can’t go on,’ and he sank to the ground, unconscious. Savitri embraced him, and sat nursing his head in her lap.

“Then she saw a handsome, dark-skinned man approaching through the trees, dressed in saffron, a noose in his hand. Gently laying her husband’s head on the ground, she stood and greeted the stranger respectfully.

“‘Please tell me who you are, and what you want,’ she said, in a trembling voice.

“‘I am Yama, god of death,’ he answered. ‘Your husband’s life has run its course, and, because he is a virtuous man, I have come myself to fetch him, rather than sending my minions. I have deigned to answer you because I know that you, too, live a blameless and disciplined life.’ Yama drew from Satyavat’s body a thumb-sized figure and tied it in his noose. As he did so, Satyavat stopped breathing, and his skin lost its luster. Yama turned and walked away, and Savitri followed.

“‘You must turn back, Savitri,’ said Yama. ‘Return and perform funeral rites for your husband. You have come as far as you can.’

“‘Where my husband goes, I will go,’ replied Savitri, ‘that is dharma. I look for no other way.’

“‘You speak well,’ said Yama. ‘You may choose any boon, other than your husband’s life, and I shall grant it.’

“‘Then may my father-in-law’s sight be restored.’

“‘So be it,” said Yama. ‘But you are exhausted—you should turn back now.’

“‘How can I be tired when I am with my husband?’ said Savitri. ‘Wherever he goes, I will go. It is said that friendship with the virtuous is the highest good. I will walk with this virtuous man.’

“‘What you say pleases me,’ said Yama. ‘Choose another boon—other than the life of Satyavat.’

“‘Then may my father-in-law’s kingdom be restored to him.’

“‘It shall be done,’ said Yama. ‘Now, turn back.’

“‘You carry people away by force, not of their own choosing,’ said Savitri. ‘Most people in the world are kindly disposed. But only the truly virtuous are compassionate even to their enemies.’

“‘Beautifully put!’ exclaimed Yama. ‘Choose another boon from me—other than this man’s life.’

“‘I am my father’s only child,’ said Savitri. ‘I ask that he should have a hundred sons, to carry his line.’

“‘Granted,’ said Yama. ‘Now, return home, for you have come a long way down this road.’

“Savitri refused. She continued to walk with Death, talking of dharma with great eloquence, as her husband dangled from Yama’s noose.

“Yama grew more and more delighted with her. He granted her the boon that she and Satyavat would have a hundred sons and, as she continued to talk, calmly and wisely, refusing to leave her husband, Yama offered her a final boon, this time without conditions.

“‘Then let my husband live, for without him, my own life is a living death. Without him I have no desire for riches, good fortune, even for heaven. And without him, how can I give birth to a hundred sons?’

“Yama smiled, and untied Satyavat from the noose. ‘Look, I have freed your husband, virtuous woman. You will live in peace and happiness together.’ Savitri joyfully walked back to where her husband’s body lay. She placed his head in her lap, and he awoke, bewildered.

“‘I fell asleep and dreamed—or was it real? I found myself in terrible darkness, and I remember a majestic figure who dragged me away . . .’

“‘Later, I will tell you what happened,’ said Savitri, ‘but night is falling—we should hurry home.’ Soon it was pitch dark and they could hear wild animals rustling menacingly in the undergrowth. But Satyavat knew the forest well, and they safely reached the hermitage.

“They found the whole community in a fever of anxiety at their absence. Search parties had been sent out for them. But King Dyumatsena had regained his sight, to everyone’s great joy. The next day, Savitri recounted the whole story—how the seer, Narada, had foretold Satyavat’s death, and how, through persistence and eloquence, she had won back his life, as well as other boons.

“Soon afterward, the king regained his kingdom. And, in time, Savitri gave birth to a hundred sons, and so did her mother.

“So you see,” said the sage to Yudhishthira,

“Savitri, through her virtue and good sense,

rescued those she loved; and in the same way

Draupadi sustains the Pandavas!”

As the end of the twelfth year approached,

Karna’s father, Surya, the sun god,

appeared to Karna in a dream, to warn him.

“Most truthful of men, the mighty Indra,

anticipating war, and keen to favor

the Pandavas, will try to take the earrings

and the golden armor you were born with.

The whole world knows how generous you are,

how you never refuse to give to brahmins

when they ask. So he will come to you

in brahminical disguise, and beg from you

your earrings and your shining gold cuirass.

Offer him something else—give him anything

except those things, for they are your protection.

Wearing them, you cannot be killed in battle;

without them, you are open, vulnerable.”

“Lord of light, I know you say this to me

for my own good. I am devoted to you

as to no other deity. I love you

more than my wife, my sons, my friends, myself.

But I do not fear death as I fear untruth;

I would rather die than be dishonored.

Giving to brahmins is my avowed practice

and if I die as a result, so be it;

I shall gain fame thereby.”

“Posthumous fame,”

said Surya, “is a rather poor reward

if you are reduced to a pile of ashes

and scattered to the winds. A dead man’s fame

is as useless as adorning him with jewels.

There is a reason, known only to the gods,

why you should keep the armor you were born with.”

“I have my arms, my strength, my hard-won skill,”

said Karna. “I can defeat Arjuna

with those alone.”

“Then at least,” said Surya,

“if your mind is so set on your vow,

ask the wielder of the thunderbolt

for a celestial weapon in exchange.”

The dream ended, and Karna remembered it.

Not long afterward, as he was praying

to the lord Surya, standing in the river

with hands joined in devotion, a tall brahmin

approached him begging alms. “What shall I give you?”

asked Karna. “Your earrings and your golden armor,”

replied the holy man. “Respected brahmin,

please ask for something else,” said Karna, “wealth,

women, cattle, land . . . I need my armor

to protect me from my enemies.”

But the brahmin, as Karna knew he would,

refused all other gifts. “O chief of gods,”

said Karna, laughing, “I know who you are.

Is it not the business of the gods

to give gifts to mortals? That being so,

if I am to mutilate my body

you should give me something in exchange.”

“Very well,” said Indra, “choose a gift—

Surya must have told you I was coming.

Take anything except my thunderbolt.”

Karna chose Indra’s javelin, which always

found its mark and flew back to his hand.

Indra said, “You shall have it but, for you,

it will only hit a single target

and then return to me.”

“A single target

is enough,” said Karna: “that mighty hero

I fear above all others.”

“Be aware,”

said Indra, “that the hero you have in mind

is protected by Narayana himself.”

“No matter,” Karna said, “give me the spear.

But grant that I will not appear disfigured

when I have cut the armor from my body.”

“Karna, because you are a man of truth

your body will be unscarred. You will retain

the radiance you inherit from your father.”

Then, having accepted the tall spear,

Karna took a sharp knife, and he cut

and cut until the golden armor peeled

slowly away, and he presented it,

wet with blood, to Indra. As he did so

he did not show the smallest sign of pain.

The heavens echoed with admiring shouts

and flowers rained down on the hero’s head.

When the news of Karna’s renunciation

reached the Kauravas, they were dismayed.

But the Pandavas rejoiced when they heard.

Now the Pandavas began to talk

about the final period of their exile:

how and where could they live unrecognized?

One day, an old brahmin approached them, shouting—

a stag had run off with his kindling sticks,

he could not do his daily rites without them.

The Pandavas set off in swift pursuit,

they spread out separately, but none of them

hit the animal. Then they lost sight of it.

Nakula, parched with thirst, came to a lake

and, crouching to drink, he heard a booming voice:

“You may not drink until you give the answers

to the questions I wish to put to you.”

Nakula looked around and, seeing no one,

and desperate with thirst, drank anyway.

Instantly, he fell dead on the bank.

One by one, his other brothers came,

heard the voice, drank, and also fell lifeless.

Last came Yudhishthira, horrified to find

his brothers dead and, though he was as thirsty

as they had been, when he heard the voice

he reflected, drew back, and, speaking humbly,

called, “Who are you, mysterious being?

Ask your questions, but please let me see you.”

A monstrous figure immediately appeared,

towering over the surrounding landscape.

“I am a yaksha, and this lake is mine;

your brothers foolishly disobeyed me.”

Then the yaksha fired riddles at him

and, just as quickly, Yudhishthira replied:

“What is it that makes the sun rise?”

“Brahman.”

“Who are the sun’s companions?”

“The gods.”

“How does a person achieve greatness?”

“Greatness is achieved through austerity.”

“What is one’s most constant friend?”

“Insight.”

“By what means does one acquire insight?”

“Through devotedly serving one’s elders.”

“What is swifter than the wind?”

“The mind.”

“What is the highest gift of heaven?”

“The truth.”

“What is the most valuable possession?”

“Knowledge.”

“What is the highest dharma?”

“Non-cruelty.”

“What can be renounced without regret?”

“Anger.”

“What disease is a bar to happiness?”

“Greed.”

“What is ignorance?”

“Not knowing one’s dharma.”

“How does one find bliss in the next world?”

“By acting virtuously in this one.”

“What sleeps with its eyes open?”

“A fish.”

“What does not move when it is born?”

“An egg.”

“What has no heart?”

“A rock has no heart.”

“What grows as it rushes on its way?”

“A river grows as it rushes on its way.”

“What is the greatest wonder in the world?”

“That, every single day, people die,

yet the living think they are immortal.”

The huge being asked many more questions

and smiled with pleasure when Yudhishthira

gave the answers. At last, it was satisfied.

“You have answered well. Now you may choose

one of your brothers to be restored to life.”

“I choose Nakula,” said Yudhishthira.

The yaksha was surprised, “But surely Bhima

is dearest to you. And you need Arjuna

to fight for you in the war that is to come.”

“Yes,” said Yudhishthira, “but my father

had two wives—and it is only right

that one of Madri’s sons should also live.”

There was a searing flash over the lake.

The yaksha disappeared and became Dharma,

god of righteousness, Yudhishthira’s father.