Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (36 page)

Three days later, to the king’s amazement,

the Pandavas appeared in splendid robes

and revealed their true identities.

Draupadi was with them, far outshining

all the beautiful women of the court.

Virata could not have been more delighted

and was most contrite for any insults

they had received while living at his court.

He offered Arjuna his daughter’s hand

in marriage. Arjuna declined with tact.

“All this year, I’ve lived in close proximity

to the princess. She has placed her trust in me

as her teacher, and I have looked on her

as a daughter. But, to protect her honor,

may she instead be married to my son,

strong-armed Abhimanyu, beloved nephew

of long-haired Krishna?” The king gave glad consent.

The Pandavas stayed in Virata’s city,

Upaplavya, and elaborate plans

for a joyful wedding were set in train.

Abhimanyu was brought from Dvaraka

together with his mother, Subhadra.

Drupada and valiant Dhrishtadyumna,

Draupadi’s kin, journeyed from Panchala

with Draupadi’s now tall and stalwart sons.

Krishna came, of course, with Balarama

and a great retinue of Yadavas.

Many allies came from far and near

to celebrate the Pandavas’ survival,

and to attend the splendid royal wedding.

It can be imagined what rejoicing,

what tears, what laughter, what exchange of news

were witnessed at the long-delayed reunion

of all these friends and kinsfolk of the Pandavas.

For many days, there was no thought of anything

but happiness, and heartfelt thanks were offered

to the gods, for their longed-for deliverance.

After the joyful wedding, the Pandavas

called a council in Virata’s hall.

Their sons were there, impressive as their fathers,

as were the kings, Virata and Drupada,

Krishna and his brother Balarama,

and many other heroes. The hall glittered

with their dazzling jewels and fine silk robes.

No longer was Yudhishthira the quiet,

patient ascetic of the forest days,

or even the gaming brahmin of the court.

Now, his natural authority

was obvious to all as he sat erect,

attentive to what Krishna had to say:

“You all know the history. You remember

how Shakuni, a skilled and artful player,

took advantage of Yudhishthira

and stripped him of his kingdom. You know the terms—

how the Pandavas had to endure

thirteen years of exile, now completed.

Yudhishthira would not claim an inch of land,

if he thought that claim at all unlawful.

It’s clear for all to see—he is entitled,

as Pandu’s heir, and as first-born Bharata,

to the whole kingdom of the Bharatas.

Nevertheless, he asks for only half—

his beautiful domain of Indraprastha.

Nor does he seek revenge for all the times

the Kauravas conspired to do him harm.

“We do not yet know what Duryodhana

intends. So I propose an ambassador

be sent from here, someone wise and calm,

to persuade the Kaurava of the merit

of Yudhishthira’s claim. He must approach this

in the most tactful way, not hectoring

but calmly, clearly laying out the case.”

Balarama said, “That is important.

After all, Yudhishthira, in gambling

all he possessed, took on Shakuni

whose skill at dice he knew was unsurpassed,

and he did so of his own free will.

He lost his wits, and that was his undoing.

Shakuni was not to blame for that.”

Krishna’s kinsman Satyaki burst out,

“How is Yudhishthira responsible

when he was entrapped? And now Duryodhana

is pretending that the Pandavas were found

before their agreed exile had expired.

Bhishma has told him it is not the case,

but that’s his bluff, his pretext for retaining

what rightfully belongs to Yudhishthira.

He should be taught a lesson! Let sharp arrows

and spears present the arguments for us

rather than soft diplomacy.”

“Quite right.

Gentleness and tact won’t work with that one!”

said Drupada. “It’s like trying to reason

with a balky mule who understands nothing

except force. We should be drumming up

as many powerful allies as we can

before they’re recruited by the Kauravas.

But there’s no harm in doing things decently—

I propose that we send my household priest,

a learned, stately man, to Hastinapura

as ambassador of King Yudhishthira.”

Krishna agreed. He emphasized that he

and Balarama were loyal to both sides,

related to both as they were, by kinship.

Then the Yadavas set off for their home.

Yudhishthira sent out well-chosen envoys

to the lords of many neighboring kingdoms,

canvassing their support. And Duryodhana

did the same. In the weeks that followed

the whole land was astir with the mustering

of men—the practiced tread of professionals,

the bustle of recruiting agents, fanning

out into the countryside, to snatch

and cajole men from their fields and herds.

Animals of war were being assembled—

beasts of burden, horses, fighting elephants

trained to charge, trample, wheel in formation.

As they gathered, the armies—fighting forces

hundreds of thousands strong—marched to the base camps

of the protagonists, where they stayed, waiting.

The earth held its breath, anticipating

the feast of blood to come.

Duryodhana,

hearing that Krishna had gone to Dvaraka,

hurried there, to ask for his allegiance

in the coming war. With the same idea,

Arjuna also went there. They arrived

at a time of day when Krishna was asleep.

They waited quietly, Duryodhana

at his head, and Arjuna at his feet.

When Krishna woke up, each began to speak.

“I was here first,” argued Duryodhana.

“But Arjuna was the first one I saw,”

said Krishna. “You are both close to me

and I will give both of you my support

if it should come to war. I have an army

of a million men. And I have myself.

I shall be present on the battlefield

but I will not fight. You can choose.

Arjuna, choose first, as you are the younger.”

Without hesitation, Arjuna

chose Krishna, by himself, non-combatant.

“I choose to have you as my charioteer.”

Duryodhana was exultant. He visited

Balarama. “Do not ask me to fight,”

said Krishna’s brother, “I will not take sides

in a war between noble Bharatas.

Go, and behave like true kshatriyas.”

Duryodhana visited Krishna’s kinsman

Kritavarman, and gained his support.

Then the Kaurava traveled home, rejoicing.

With Krishna and Balarama out of action,

and with Krishna’s army on his side—

how could he lose!

“What did you have in mind

when you chose me, rather than my army?”

Krishna asked Arjuna when they were alone.

“I know you could win this war single-handed,”

said Arjuna, “and so could I. With you

steering my chariot, we shall gain great glory

together. Best of men, may we prevail!”

Shalya, uncle to the younger Pandavas

(he was their mother’s brother, King of Madra),

had been expected to weigh in on the side

of his relatives. And that was his intention.

But, traveling toward Upaplavya,

and finding splendid rest-houses on the way

which he thought Yudhishthira had built for him,

he declared that he would give a boon

to his host—but this turned out to be

Duryodhana, who asked for his allegiance.

So Shalya arrived at Upaplavya

seriously embarrassed and contrite.

“It can’t be helped,” said Yudhishthira calmly.

“Of course you must keep your word. But, listen,

when Arjuna and Karna face each other,

you’ll probably serve as Karna’s charioteer,

your skill being famous. As you join the fray

and are in conversation, talk to him

in such a way that he becomes discouraged;

try to undermine his fiery zeal.

I know this is not proper, but please do it

to protect the Left-handed Archer.”

Shalya agreed. “You deserve every help

after the sufferings you have endured—

though, as we know, even the gods suffer.”

Other kings were arriving with their armies,

gigantic forces which, vast as they were,

merged with the Pandava battalions

as a stream is swallowed by a mighty ocean—

Satyaki the Vrishni, Dhrishtaketu

king of Chedi, the powerful Jayatsena

of Magadha, and more. Altogether,

there were seven armies. With their weapons

primed and polished, glittering in the sun,

they resembled a threatening thundercloud

lit by lightning flashes.

At Hastinapura,

the city could not house the mass of men

—even the allied kings and their chief warriors—

who had arrived to join the Kaurava ranks.

There were eleven armies altogether.

The entire terrain between the two rivers

and beyond was covered with a sprawling

overspill of tents, a massive camp

that seethed with furious activity,

though not yet with a purpose or direction.

Their field commanders were fully aware

that they must keep the men well occupied

or else fighting, drunkenness, debauchery

and homesickness would start to dissipate

their fighting ardor.

For there was still no word

that war would really happen—the two sides

were still deliberating. Only the massed

armies, and the joyful gallimaufry

of war, were signs of serious intent.

It was this that Drupada’s priest saw

from miles away, as he approached the city.

The dignified, distinguished priest was welcomed

by Bhishma, and by his fellow brahmins

and, with due ceremony, he was ushered

into the presence of King Dhritarashtra

sitting in council with his ministers.

After the appropriate formalities,

he soon came to the point. He itemized

the sufferings and wrongs the Pandavas

had undergone, caused by the Kauravas:

attempts on their lives, loss of their fine kingdom,

grave insults inflicted upon Draupadi,

the years of hardship in the wilderness.

“However,” he said, “the noble Pandavas

have set grievance aside. Yudhishthira

does not want war. He wishes above all things

to be reconciled with the Kauravas.

He does not lay claim to Hastinapura

even though his entitlement is clear.

If Indraprastha is restored to him,

he will rule over his half of the kingdom

in perfect happiness, wanting no more

than close, harmonious relationships

with you and your sons. If this is agreed

he will persuade the kings who are his allies

to demobilize their fighting forces

and send their well-armed men back to their homes.

Great king, I hope you will see the sense in this.

After all, Krishna is with the Pandavas.

Who, knowing that, would want to fight with them?”

“Sir,” said Bhishma. “What you say is welcome.

The way you put it is a bit too blunt,

but that can be forgiven in a brahmin.

You speak the truth and, furthermore, Arjuna

could subdue the three worlds single-handed.”

“Why keep on saying that?” said angry Karna.

“The fact is, there was a covenant

and the sly sons of Pandu have broken it.”

“No,” said Bhishma, “by my calculations,

the Pandavas had served their thirteen years

before they revealed themselves. I think the law

supports Yudhishthira’s claim.”

The arguments

went to and fro. Dhritarashtra said nothing,

gnawing his lips; then he said, “After due thought,

weighing the pros and cons, I have decided . . .”

the council held its breath, “. . . I have decided

to send my aide Sanjaya as my envoy.

You, sir,” he told the priest, “can now return

to Upaplavya. Tell them to expect him.”

“What’s to be done, Sanjaya?” said the king

when they were alone (for every ruler

needs a disinterested confidant