Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (37 page)

whose discretion can be relied upon).

“I can find no fault with the Pandavas.

Exemplary kshatriyas, they act

always in line with dharma and good sense.

It is only my foolish son and Karna

who, stubborn and self-interested as always,

insist that they themselves are in the right.

Duryodhana has always been resentful

and envious, and Karna spurs him on

with his streak of bitterness, and fixed hatred

for Arjuna. Yet they are both deluded

if they think that they can win this war—

against Arjuna, with his divine weapons,

against Krishna, ruler of the three worlds,

and Bhima, stronger than forty elephants!

That son of mine is dreaming! And yet . . . and yet

I want him to be great. Above all,

I want him to cast off this yoke of envy

he wears continually.

“Sanjaya,

go to the Pandavas, ask after their health,

say we want peace, say . . . whatever comes

into your mind that you think suitable,

anything likely to avert a war.”

After elaborate formalities,

inquiries after everybody’s health,

down to kitchen-women and household slaves,

Yudhishthira asked Sanjaya to tell him

the state of affairs at Hastinapura—

what was Dhritarashtra’s thinking now?

“The old king is grieving,” said Sanjaya.

“He has no appetite for war, and fears

the dire consequences. The brahmins tell him

that to seek to do harm to the harmless,

as his son is doing, is a dreadful sin.

You have assembled seven mighty armies

in your support. But Duryodhana

and his allies are also powerful—

there are eleven armies on his side.

In my view—that is to say, the king thinks—

if it comes to war, neither side could win

without enormous bloodshed.

Furthermore,

it is unlawful to kill one’s kith and kin

and you, Yudhishthira, and your brothers here,

are known to uphold the law in all respects.

For this reason, a sinful act of yours

would be like a dark stain on a pure white cloth.

Victory and defeat would be the same.”

And Sanjaya went on in the same vein.

There was a silence. “Friend,” said Yudhishthira,

“I know you mean well, but you miss the point.

Not even a fool could wish for war

if peace were to be had by any means.

Tell me—when have you ever heard me utter

warmongering words, in any circumstances?

Even when I was least myself, caught up

in gambling fever, even then, I prayed

that the Kauravas would not destroy themselves.

I knew then, and nothing has changed my view,

that Duryodhana is insatiable.

He wants for nothing, lives in great luxury,

all the pleasures of the earth are his,

yet only the complete elimination

of the Pandavas will satisfy him.

“Dhritarashtra knows all this. His brother,

Vidura, has given him wise advice.

So long as the king listened to Vidura

the Kauravas kept some check on wrongdoing.

But now that good man has been pushed aside,

and Dhritarashtra listens to no voice

except that of his son’s rapaciousness

which burns untamed, like a fire fed with butter.

“I honor Dhritarashtra; since Pandu’s death

I have venerated him as a father.

But, for him, the wishes of his wayward son

are always paramount. Three times at least

we Pandavas have been the blameless objects

of Duryodhana’s boundless enmity,

and have not answered back. He tried to kill us

in the lacquer house. Then, though as first-born prince

I was heir apparent, we were fobbed off

with half the kingdom, desolate scrubland

from which we made a paradise on earth.

“Now we have borne thirteen years of exile—

and, yes, my foolishness played a part in that.

But now they should return our kingdom to us

according to the covenant they made.

“Dhritarashtra and his greedy son

want us gone, and they to rule alone.

The two of them have dreams of a great realm,

unchallenged domination of the earth—

a superpower. That way lies misery.

Such a dream can only be sustained

if they don’t hear the thrum of
Gandiva
,

if they can forget the unrivaled strength

of Bhima and the heroic sons of Madri.

“Monstrous ambition breeds unreasoning fear.

The Kauravas need have no fear of me,

I wish them well—but please give them this message:

I must have my kingdom of Indraprastha.

On this point, I am immovable.”

“Our earthly life is transient,” said Sanjaya.

“If the Kauravas refuse to return

your former kingdom, then it would be better

to beg in the streets than to incur the sin

of killing your kinsfolk. And why did you

spend years in exile, if you meant to fight?

Scrupulously you followed the law, yet now

you propose to commit appalling wrong.

Even if you were ruler of the world

you would grow old and die, like everyone.

“Your every action follows you in death.

You are known for your devotion to dharma.

Why change now, to wage unlawful war?

What happiness could you enjoy, knowing

that you have killed your kinsmen and your teachers?

What happiness, as you approach old age,

in contemplating miserable rebirth?”

“You should tell that to my cousin, Sanjaya!

You judge me prematurely. What is dutiful

and what is sinful is not so straightforward.

In a time of grave emergency,

the ordinary rules may not apply.

If virtue is a victim, then the task

is to restore the world to harmony.

Krishna—advise me; be my guide in this.”

“Sanjaya,” said Krishna, “both the Kauravas

and the Pandavas are dear to me.

Yet clearly Dhritarashtra and his son

have stolen the kingdom of the Pandavas

by refusing to return it, as agreed.

Stealing is wrong no matter how it’s done.

Why should they escape responsibility?

“You speak of the sinfulness of war,

but in a land where everybody prospers

each group has its dharma, its proper duty

to society; and a king should govern

and protect his people. If someone seizes

the land of another out of avarice,

then a king’s duty is to go to war

to set things right. Action is the duty

of a kshatriya. You know this, Sanjaya.

Why do you, then, against your better judgment,

speak in favor of the Kauravas?

“You were present in the gambling hall

when Shakuni befuddled Yudhishthira,

when Karna jeered and insulted Draupadi,

when Duhshasana tried to strip her naked.

How, then, can you think that the right course

is simply to do nothing? Mere inertia

in the face of such flagrant wrongdoing

is not virtue. The whole cosmos turns

on action. Just as the sun rises daily,

the moon goes through its cycle, the wind blows,

so action is the law for gods and men—

for brahmins, kshatriyas and commoners.

Kshatriya dharma is to protect what’s right.

If Yudhishthira could regain his kingdom

by peaceful means, then he would certainly

make Bhima be as gentle as a brahmin!

But the fact is, Duryodhana thinks himself

above the law. And law must be defended.

I will go myself to Hastinapura

and try to broker a peaceful resolution.”

Sanjaya gave way. “O Dharma King,

in my loyalty to Dhritarashtra

I hope I did not offend you.”

“Sanjaya,”

said Yudhishthira, “there is no offense.

I know you speak as the king’s emissary.

Convey my heartfelt greetings to all who live

at Hastinapura, and wish them good health.

Say to Duryodhana that we Pandavas,

in the interests of peace, will overlook

our grievances. Instead of Indraprastha,

we will settle for five villages,

one for each of us.” Yudhishthira

named the settlements he had in mind.

“In this way we can live in peace. Our allies

can take their soldiers home to their own kingdoms,

back to the arms of their thankful wives.”

Sanjaya rode back to Hastinapura.

He thought deeply about all he had heard

and, on arriving, sought an audience

with Dhritarashtra. “Pandu’s sons are well.

Yudhishthira greets you fondly, and inquires

after your health. As he always has,

he pursues the law in all particulars.

He is renowned and honored everywhere

and desires nothing that is not rightly his.

They say a man reaps as he sows, but I say

the Pandavas have suffered more, far more

than they deserve. You, my king, have treated

your brother’s sons cruelly and unjustly.

Your reputation is soiled throughout the land,

your name a byword for unlawfulness

and greed. If Yudhishthira returned evil

for evil, the Kauravas would be destroyed

and you, as king, would bear the blame for it.

You have trusted your untrustworthy son

and cast off your nephew, rich in wisdom,

so now you are too enfeebled, foolish king,

to protect your vast and wealthy lands

from utter ruin.

“But that is enough for now.

The chariot has shaken up my bones

and I must rest. Tomorrow, in the council,

I will lay out Yudhishthira’s words in full.”

Sanjaya left Dhritarashtra chastened

and appalled, but understanding nothing

he did not know already. He asked himself,

not for the first time, how he could have fallen

into this predicament, this nightmare.

As always, when sleep was impossible,

he sent for Vidura, his wise half-brother,

to keep the watches of the night with him.

“Sanjaya has returned; until I hear

the message he has brought from Yudhishthira,

I cannot sleep. My mind is in a tumult.

Tell me something that will bring me peace.”

“Many people are sleepless,” said Vidura:

“the anxious lover, one who is destitute,

thieves who fear discovery, householders

nervous of thieves—but none of these, I think,

is your condition. Are you, perhaps, burning

because you covet another’s property?”

As if he had not heard, Dhritarashtra

asked Vidura to tell him soothing stories.

The night was black outside, and very quiet.

Only an occasional owl’s hooting

disturbed the silence. Hour after wakeful hour,

Vidura discoursed on many topics.

He spoke of wisdom and of foolishness;

the virtues of a good ruler; mastery

of the senses; the value of honesty;

the importance of family; austerity;

moderation; the nature of karma—how

people’s actions follow them after death.

All this was leavened by engaging tales

and, here and there, as if to test whether

his brother was still awake, and listening still,

Vidura inserted his own thoughts

on the king’s obligations to his nephews.

“What am I supposed to do? Tell me

the best way forward for the Kauravas,”

moaned Dhritarashtra, as if he did not know.

“Try to cultivate clear-sightedness,

think of consequences—not like a fish

which gulps at a fat morsel, oblivious

of the hidden hook. Rather, reflect

on what it is that leads you to act wrongly

and avoid that thing—as a drunkard

must avoid strong liquor. Your doting love

for Duryodhana has made you mad

and you don’t realize it—you know, they say

that when the gods wish to destroy a person

they make him see the world the wrong way up.

And those they intend to prosper, they endow

with wisdom. Well, Yudhishthira is wise.

How can you hope to flourish when you listen

to Duryodhana and his deluded friends?

The Pandavas regard you as a father;

do the right thing—treat them as your sons.

“Think of the story of the seer Atreya,

wandering the world in the guise of a swan.

Being accosted by the Sadhya gods

and asked for good advice, he said to them:

‘This is our task: be serene at all times,

do not be vengeful, nor scorn your enemy;

speak truthfully, befriend the virtuous,

be equable in the face of disaster.

Be aware that everything must pass,

just as clouds arise, drift, and disperse,

so do not seek to cling to anything.’

“The seer was right,” said Vidura, “attachment

is the curse of humankind. It leads to grief,

and grief is the enemy of good sense.

You are too attached to Duryodhana,

not realizing that all that lives will pass.

Happiness and misery arise

for all of us. Neither exult nor grieve

but let it be.

Time after time, people die and are born,

Time after time, people rise and decline,

Time after time, people give and are given,

Time after time, people mourn and are mourned.”

In this vein, thoughtful Vidura talked on,

knowing that his words evaporated

into the night air, knowing Dhritarashtra

was no more willing to accept advice

than is a glutton or a drug addict

but, rather, claimed that he was powerless:

“Man is not master of his destiny

but a mere puppet, swinging from a thread.

I cannot abandon Duryodhana.”

“Then, O king, you are set on a course

you’ll bitterly regret. Can you imagine

the searing grief of hearing that your sons,

one by one, are killed?”

“O Vidura,”

sighed Dhritarashtra, “when I listen to you

my mind inclines toward the Pandavas.

But when I hear Duryodhana, well then

it veers away again. It’s time that governs

our human affairs; effort is futile.

But I like to listen to you—are there things

that you have left unsaid? If so, then speak.”

“There is teaching more profound than I can give,

being shudra-born. But Sanatsujata,

the divine ancient and eternal youth,

can tell you more, concerning death and non-death.”

And by thought alone, Vidura summoned him.

“Sanatsujata,” said Dhritarashtra,

“I am told you teach that there is no death,

and yet the world’s wise men devote their lives

to avoiding it. How can this be explained?”

“Both are true,” answered Sanatsujata.

“There is a part of the eternal Self

in each of us, that is indestructible.

Yet men die constantly through their own folly.

Anger, greed, delusion, envy, lust—

each of these waits to entrap a person

as a hunter stalks a witless antelope,

and each of them is death. Through being attached

to ‘I’ and ‘mine’ in every misleading form

we invite death to take up residence,

to seize us in its sharp, tenacious claws;

we die repeatedly to our true nature.

Repeatedly, we undergo rebirth.

“But one who practices simplicity,

who banishes desire and lives in truth,

who does not crave the fruit of their own actions

who is humble and who controls the senses—

that person can cross over death, and live.”

As Sanatsujata talked, Dhritarashtra

listened. But he lacked the concentration

that could have made the ancient youth’s wise words

a door into a different understanding

of what was right, what he should say and do.

As it was, he noticed the palace stirring,

heard birds begin to sing outside the window,

and knew that the long night must soon be over.

The council gathered in the assembly hall,

a splendid space, plastered white and gold,

sprinkled with fragrant water of sandalwood;

the seats, inlaid with ivory and jewels,

covered with silk cushions. Courtiers, princes,

ministers and marshals were on edge,

waiting to hear what Sanjaya would say,

no one more eagerly than Dhritarashtra.

“My lords! I bring greetings from Yudhishthira.

He asked me to convey his earnest wishes

for the good health of everyone in turn,

forgetting no one.

“Now, to the real business.

These words were delivered by Arjuna,

in front of Yudhishthira and Krishna,

speaking for all the Pandavas. ‘Tell the king

our cause is just, and we are more than ready

to fight for it. My bow, mighty
Gandiva
,

vibrates with longing to fulfill its purpose.

We have many seasoned warriors, brave,

skilled and single-minded. We have vast armies,

kept in a state of battle-readiness.

“‘We do not want war. But that does not mean

we will opt for peace on despicable terms.

Duryodhana should ponder hard and well

before he decides to break the covenant

made thirteen years ago in the gaming hall.

We have spent those years on a bed of sorrow.

If he defaults, Duryodhana will spend

an eternity of nights in Yama’s realm,

pinned to a far more painful bed than ours.

“‘When he sees our millions of men deployed,

their tread shaking the earth, our massed elephants

of war, their tusks filed to points, spear-sharp,

Duryodhana will regret this war.

“‘When he hears Bhima, the strongest man on earth,

each sinew burning with long-pent-up rage,

roaring with the lust to avenge Draupadi,

Duryodhana will regret this war.

“‘When Bhima, deadly club swinging, advances

on the previously complacent enemy

like a lion savaging a herd of cows,

Duryodhana will regret this war.

“‘When he sees his huge forces scattered

and consumed like straw by a summer fire,

or a stand of saplings ravaged by lightning,

Duryodhana will regret this war.

“‘When he catches sight of all our valiant sons

standing, bows raised, in their chariots

like rearing serpents ready to spit poison,

Duryodhana will regret this war.

“‘And when he sees my gold, gem-studded chariot

drawn by white horses, flying the monkey banner,

driven by Krishna, inspired charioteer;

when the dim-witted man picks up the thrum

of
Gandiva
, as the string strikes my wristband;

when, like driving rain, my arrows thresh

the ranks of his infantry, as if they were

ripe corn, severing men’s heads from their shoulders;

when he sees his elephants stampede

in terror, blinded by their bloody wounds;

when he sees his valiant horses stumbling,

falling, heaped up, their bright-armored riders

mortally pierced by my searching arrows; then,

then
Duryodhana will regret this war.

“‘My bow flexes without my holding it;

my arrows in their inexhaustible quivers

yearn to fly. My steeds strain at their yokes.

My dagger springs from its sheath, like a serpent

impatient to escape its outworn skin.

The omens are in place, our learned brahmins

have spelled out the conjunctions of the planets

and find the time auspicious for our purpose.

But we do not want war. We can live content,

with no ambition to extend our power.

Sanjaya, you should show Dhritarashtra

the utter folly of quarreling with those

who made his kingdom what it is today

through their past conquests of his neighbors’ lands.

Remind him, we have always fought his foes—

show him how insane Duryodhana is!’

“Those were Arjuna’s words,” said Sanjaya.

Bhishma stood up, addressing Duryodhana,

“Those words are true. Thanks to the advice you take

from Shakuni, from base Duhshasana

and from Karna, your lowborn companion,

you have veered away from the path of dharma.”

“Venerable Bhishma!” Karna cried,

“do not speak of me like that. All I do

is designed to serve the king and his great son,

my friend. You cannot name a single time

when I have acted in any other way.”

“This fellow is an evil influence,”

said Bhishma, turning now to Dhritarashtra.

“He boasts that he will beat the Pandavas

and Duryodhana places trust in him,

but where was he when the fine Matsya cattle

were lost? Where was he when the gandharvas

routed your son’s retinue and captured him?

Nowhere. It was great-hearted Bhima

who came to the rescue. O king, choose peace,

don’t be misled by Karna’s puffed-up plans.

You should know—Arjuna and Krishna

are not mere mortal men, but part divine

incarnations of invincible

Nara and Narayana, who take birth

in epochs when dharma needs defending.”

Drona said, “Bhishma is right. The law

will be flouted if you refuse to cede

to Yudhishthira his half of the kingdom.

We should negotiate with the Pandavas.”

But Dhritarashtra was not listening. Restless,

he was plying Sanjaya with questions

at a tangent. And if there was one moment

when the cause of peace was lost; when it was clear

that Dhritarashtra would not oppose his son;

when the Kauravas were condemned to die;

it was that moment, when King Dhritarashtra

turned away from Bhishma and from Drona,

ignoring their views.

“Sanjaya, what forces

have the Pandavas arrayed against us?

How strong are the Panchalas? And the rest?”

Sanjaya sighed deeply, then he sank,

fainting, to the floor. “He must have seen,

in his mind, my nephews and their forces,

and been overcome,” said Dhritarashtra.

Sanjaya revived, and dutifully

listed the allies of the Pandavas,

and which Kauravas had been nominated

as dueling partners of named Pandavas,

to fight with them in duels to the death.

Bhishma had been allotted to Shikhandin,

Shalya marked out for Yudhishthira,