Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (64 page)

Standing to Duryodhana’s left, Arjuna

slapped his own thigh. Bhima saw the sign.

Soon Duryodhana, to avoid a blow,

jumped—and Bhima, seizing his chance, smashed

his mace full strength against the Kaurava’s thighs,

breaking both instantly. Duryodhana

crashed to the ground groaning. The Pandavas

were filled with joy. Bhima had won. The war

was over!

Bhima strode round Duryodhana

and scuffed his head with his foot. “Not boasting now?

Where is your scorn, your dirty tricks, you wretch?”

Many onlookers were scandalized

by Bhima’s behavior to a dying man

and Yudhishthira reproved him, “Bhima,

stop now! You have fulfilled your vow at last.

For all his evil actions, Duryodhana

is a Bharata, our kinsman. You must not

touch a kinsman with your foot.” He approached

Duryodhana, with streaming eyes. “Oh, cousin,

it is your own folly and wickedness

that have brought you to destruction. Destiny

cannot be averted. But I envy you.

Heaven will welcome you as a brave hero;

we must face the widows’ bitter grief.”

Balarama was extremely angry.

“Shame on you, Bhima! All the treatises

are clear that in a fight, no blow must strike

below the belt. Surely you know that!”

The furious Balarama rushed at Bhima,

but Krishna wrapped his powerful arms around him

and stopped his brother in full flight. “Come now,”

he said, “the Pandavas are our friends and kin.

Bhima was fulfilling a vow he made

when Duryodhana insulted Draupadi.

The rishi Maitreya cursed Duryodhana

himself, saying Bhima would break his thigh.

And we have now entered the age of Kali;

breaches of dharma are to be expected.”

Upright Balarama was unconvinced

by his brother’s fraudulent reasoning.

“Bhima will be known as a crooked fighter.

Duryodhana, on the other hand, acted

with propriety, and will go to heaven.

His blood is a libation on the ground

of this auspicious place.”

Krishna spoke

to Yudhishthira, reproving him.

“Why did you do nothing when Bhima kicked

Duryodhana in the head?” Yudhishthira

was unhappy. “I don’t approve that action

but, remembering all Bhima has endured,

I felt he should be forgiven for that act,

righteous or otherwise.” Half-heartedly,

Krishna said, “So be it,” and turned away.

Bhima bent before Yudhishthira

with joined hands, lit up with happiness.

“Today, O king, the earth, restored to peace,

is yours. May you rule justly and well.”

With a grateful heart, Yudhishthira thanked him.

Bhima was reveling in the victory,

rejoicing in the rout of his enemies.

All his friends and allies gathered round

to wish him well, shouting, blowing conches,

twanging their bowstrings, dancing in delight.

“Bhima, your fame will spread throughout the world,

bards will sing of you, eulogists praise you

for defeating the wicked Kaurava.

Jaya! Jaya!”

Krishna upbraided them.

“It is not right for one who has been slain

to be slain a second time with cruel words

and triumphant glee.”

Meanwhile, your son

was lying on the ground in agony.

Raising himself painfully on his elbows

he spoke to Krishna. “Don’t think I don’t know

that Bhima recalled his vow to break my thigh

only because of you. That is just one

of many devious and sinful actions

perpetrated by you in this war.

But for you, Bhishma would be uninjured,

Bhurishravas and Drona would be alive.

And the virtuous and mighty Karna

would still be by my side to comfort me.

Only because you acted wickedly

the Pandavas, who should have lost this war,

have won.”

“Son of Gandhari,” Krishna said,

“virtue has won. Your defeat, and the killing

on this bloody field of Kurukshetra

are due to you alone, and your sinful envy.

Bhishma and Drona are dead because of you.

Karna is dead because he followed you,

so are your brothers. I tried to counsel you.

Your father, Bhishma, Vidura and Drona

all tried. Enslaved by all-consuming greed,

you would not hear the wisdom of your elders.

Now, bear the consequences.”

Duryodhana,

sweating with pain, replied, “Listen, Krishna,

I have followed the duties of my order;

I have ruled well, have given generously;

I have governed the wide world, and her riches—

who is more fortunate than I? I have fought

as a kshatriya should, and fallen gloriously.

I have enjoyed the pleasures of the gods—

who is more fortunate than I? Today

those I love most will welcome me in heaven—

who, then, is more fortunate than I?

As for you and the cheating Pandavas,

you must live on in this unhappy world,

bereaved, burdened by sorrow and regret.”

After he spoke, a shower of fragrant flowers

fell from the sky, and voices were heard singing—

celestial beings, praising Duryodhana,

lamenting the unrighteous deaths of Bhishma,

Drona, Bhurishravas and Karna.

At this, the Pandavas became ashamed

and wept, their previous joy contaminated.

Krishna spoke to them in a voice like thunder.

“Listen to me! Each of those mighty warriors

was unbeatable by lawful means.

Knowing that righteousness was on your side,

I arranged that you would overcome

those great opponents. If I had not done this,

victory would never have been yours;

war would have dragged on indefinitely.

The same applies to Duryodhana’s death.

“In war, faced with defeat, foul means are fair.

When the enemy has superior numbers

any stratagem is permissible.

The gods, in their battle against the demons,

trod the same path, and what the gods think fair

men can surely emulate. Now, friends,

go back to your tents for well-earned rest.”

Much cheered, the Pandava party returned

to their camp. But the five sons of Kunti

went with Krishna to the Kaurava camp,

riding on Arjuna’s great chariot.

As soon as they arrived, and had stepped down,

the splendid vehicle, with its monkey standard,

turned into a ball of flame. In no time,

it was just a pile of ash. Earlier, Drona

and Karna had destroyed it, but Krishna’s power

had stopped it from imploding until now.

They contemplated Duryodhana’s tent,

now stripped of its luxurious appointments,

dismal, like a festive amphitheater

when the audience and players have departed.

They found large boxes full of gold, silver

and precious jewels: Yudhishthira’s by right.

Krishna advised them not to go back to camp.

To mark the new reign, it would be auspicious

to spend the night, together with Satyaki,

beside the sparkling river Oghavati

that formed one boundary of the battlefield.

Once settled there, Yudhishthira asked Krishna

to travel on his behalf to Hastinapura

and speak with you, his cousin’s grieving parents.

He is on his way here as I speak.

“Explain to me,” said Janamejaya,

“why the Dharma King requested Krishna

to go to Hastinapura. Why did he

not come here himself?”

“Yudhishthira knew,”

said Vaishampayana, “that Queen Gandhari

had spiritual powers, which she had earned

by her great austerities. He was afraid

that if he went himself to visit her

she would curse him to burn up on the spot,

blaming him for the death of all her sons.

Krishna would be able to console her

with wise words.”

Arriving in the city,

Krishna hurried to where Dhritarashtra

and Gandhari sat, despairing, desolate.

He bent before them and addressed the king.

“Sir, you understand the workings of time.

You know the complete history of the conflict

between the sons of Pandu and your own.

Yet, it seems, fate can stupefy even those

who understand it—so when I came to you

to broker peace, despite the best advice

of Vidura and all the other elders,

you failed to curb your son. Whether from love

or avarice, you acted foolishly.

Defeat is the result. I beg you, therefore,

not to blame the Pandavas, who behaved

righteously, courageously. The future

of the Bharata line now rests with them.

Yudhishthira has nothing but goodwill

toward you and his aunt. He grieves for you.”

Turning to Gandhari, Krishna said,

“Best of women, remember your own words

in the assembly: ‘Foolish Duryodhana,

the course that you propose is not virtuous,

and victory will be where virtue is.’

Thinking of this, let your heart be steady.

Do not wish destruction on the Pandavas.”

“You are right,” said Gandhari. “This dreadful news

made me blaze with fury. But now I am calm.

My husband is like a child—may the Pandavas

and you, Krishna, be a refuge to him,”

and Gandhari was overcome with sobs.

Dhristarashtra said, “I cannot believe

that my son, strong as ten thousand elephants,

could have been cut down. Oh, what misery!

How will we two, an aged couple, live

destitute of children? And how will I,

who have been king myself, now bend the knee

as a mere lowly slave to Yudhishthira?”

Krishna became aware, through intuition,

that Ashvatthaman, still alight with anger

at the manner of Drona’s death, was plotting

an attack on the Pandavas and their friends.

He took hasty leave of the royal couple

and quickly traveled back to the battlefield,

to join his cousins on the riverbank.

After Krishna’s departure, Dhritarashtra

turned to Sanjaya. “What did my son say

after he had fallen to the ground,

felled by Bhima?”

“Sir,” said Sanjaya,

“he asked me to tell you, his sorrowing parents,

that he regrets nothing. He has lived his life

as a kshatriya should; and he has died

in unfair fight, and in full confidence

of heavenly reward. He feels for you

and for his sister, and fears for your fate.”

“Tell me what happened then,” said Dhritarashtra.

“Your son’s surviving friends,” said Sanjaya,

“learned that Duryodhana was lying helpless.

Quickly, they came to him, and were enraged