Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (70 page)

depend on how you rule.

“Free yourself

from that heavy burden—renounce this world.

“The tiger has one belly, but what he kills

feeds many creatures that depend on him.

“A wise man shrinks the scale of his desires;

a king wants conquest, and is never satisfied.

“Those who eat only leaves, drink only water,

and consume only wind, are miserable.

“Those who see the many as the One

gain the freedom that comes from understanding.

Renounce wishes, have no sense of ‘mine.’

They who set no value on possession

cannot lose, and will grieve for nothing.

Janaka, looking at his royal city,

said, ‘If Mithila were engulfed by fire

nothing of mine would perish in the flames.’”

“Yes,” said Arjuna, “I know the story

of how King Janaka renounced his kingdom

and became a beggar—thought himself a saint;

his wife thought otherwise! Hear what she said:

“‘
L
OOK AT YOU
! Sitting there with shaven head, a grain of wheat in one hand, holding your rags together with the other. Once, you were a source of nourishment to family, guests, priests, the gods. Now you beg from them!

“‘What about those who depended on you? What can I, your lawful wife, expect from you, now that you are selfishly pursuing your own advancement? I have no husband, and yet he walks the earth, doing nothing. Hypocrite! You say you are free of possessiveness. Would you truly be indifferent if someone stole your robe and broke your water pot? I don’t think so. As a king, you installed the ritual fires, supported holy men by the thousand. Why could you not cultivate non-attachment while living in the world? Do you have to act out this pantomime? King Janaka did good to the whole community. Janaka the beggar contributes nothing!’”

“Arjuna, you just don’t understand,”

said Yudhishthira. “I know the Vedas;

I know the arguments around these issues.

You have lived your life as a warrior

and have not thought about the subtleties

as I have. While I was sitting in the forest

discussing with the seers, you were away

on other business. But you mean well, I know,

and I appreciate your sincerity.”

“I still maintain that a life of action,

of deeds that make a difference in the world,

is better than passivity,” said Arjuna.

“And to be effective, you need wealth,

whether it be for ritual purposes

or to sustain those who depend on you.

To rule the kingdom and dispense your wealth

with wisdom is the highest possible good.”

“But wealth brings evil,” said Yudhishthira.

“Men invariably want more and more.

Craving, aversion—these are the great causes

of suffering. They bind us to the wheel

of endless birth and rebirth. A wise man knows,

true freedom comes from renunciation.”

At this point of impasse, the great ascetic

Devasthana entered the discussion.

“Arjuna is right to defend wealth,

but one must understand its use correctly.

You know that a man’s life should have four stages:

first a student, then a householder,

next a forest hermit, and finally

a renunciant, wandering the world.

A life is like a ladder to be climbed

step by step, in the correct manner.

You should not try to leap to the top rung

before you have attained the previous three

with due regard to the conduct right for each.

You have won the earth, Yudhishthira,

and won it lawfully. You should not now

simply renounce it—that would be misguided.

“As a king, you are a householder.

Your task is the support of your dependents

and providing wealth for sacrifices

to sustain the gods. Wealth was created

to support such ritual sacrifice,

and by making offerings in this way

people acquire merit. With wealth, also,

they make donations to those who deserve them,

especially priests—and true wisdom resides

in judging who is worthy and who is not.

By this means, through sacrifice and gifts,

a man at the householder stage of life,

living without anger, fear or greed,

may be content. So you, Yudhishthira,

should cast aside your grief, and do your duty

as a king and householder, devoted

to the protection of your subjects, free

of negative emotions.”

“Only listen,”

said Arjuna, “to this excellent advice

and shed your misery. All those we killed

died as warriors, and are in heaven now;

knowing this, why should you grieve for them?

Think of Indra—he killed his wicked kinsmen

and is honored for it throughout the three worlds.”

Vyasa agreed: “What if all and sundry

took to the forest just as they felt inclined

before they reached the proper stage in life?

You must exercise authority

as King Sudyumna did in ancient times.”

“Tell me about that king,” said Yudhishthira.

“
T
WO BRAHMIN BROTHERS
, Shankha and Likhita, were living a life of abstinence, each in his own hermitage beside the lovely river Bahuda, down in Panchala country. One day, Likhita went to visit Shankha but found he was not at home. While he waited, Likhita idly picked a ripe fruit and was eating it when his brother returned.

“‘Where did you get that fruit?’ asked Shankha angrily. ‘Who gave you permission to pick it? You have committed theft. You should denounce yourself to the king, and ask him to punish you.’

“Likhita went to King Sudyumna, who knew him well, and told him what he had done.

“‘If I am the agent of punishment,’ said the king, ‘I also have it in my power to pardon you—which I hereby do, knowing you to be a man of scrupulous conduct.’

“Likhita was pleased, but he insisted on his punishment, so the king had his two hands cut off.

“In great pain, Likhita went back to his brother. ‘Blessed one,’ he said, ‘I have borne my punishment. Now, please forgive me.’

“‘I am not angry with you, brother,’ said Shankha. ‘You have atoned for what you did. Now go quickly to the river and pour libations to the gods and the ancestors.’

“Likhita waded into the water and, as he tried to pour water in the prescribed manner, his two hands reappeared, whole and perfect. He was amazed.

“Shankha said, ‘I performed this miracle with my ascetic power.’

“‘But if you could do this,’ exclaimed Likhita, ‘why did you not purify me of my sin before?’

“‘It was not my dharma to inflict punishment on you. That is the king’s task and, through performing it, he has gained merit, and so have his ancestors. You, too, have been purified by it.’

“You should follow the ancient king’s example,

Yudhishthira. Listen to Arjuna.

Wielding the rod is right for a kshatriya;

shaving the head is not. And, furthermore,

you owe it to your brothers and Draupadi,

after so many years of deprivation,

that they should enjoy life as they did before.”

“To rule can bring me only misery,”

said Yudhishthira. “I am tormented

by the terrible laments of those poor women

whose main purpose in life is now denied them—

to be loving mothers, sisters, wives.”

Vyasa said, “You feel responsible,

but to think that these events were your doing

is arrogant, my son. Nothing occurs

unless the time has come around for it;

those of perfect understanding know this.

Only time governs our lives’ events,

whether they be tiny or momentous;

the shallowest breath, the greatest massacre—

both are produced by time. What happens happens.

To resist, or to recriminate

and wish it had been otherwise, to yearn

for another chance, another life, is fruitless;

craving is the source of suffering.

Happiness and sorrow, pain and pleasure—

both pairs of opposites bring suffering

if one engages with them. Better by far

to accept what time delivers, knowing

that there is nothing changeless but change itself.”

But Yudhishthira was still unconvinced.

He hardly took in what Vyasa said,

so gripped was he by grief. “Abhimanyu,

just a child! And all Draupadi’s sons!

Bhishma—that dear man who was so kind to us

when we came as boys to Hastinapura.

My mind is haunted by the memory

of how he staggered as if struck by lightning

under the onslaught of Arjuna’s arrows.

And the lie I told to our great teacher,

Drona, making him lose his will to fight,

causing him such grief! And most of all

our brother Karna, who always fought fairly—

all those great men would be among us still

but for my hunger to possess the kingdom.

Knowing this, I cannot live. Farewell.

I will sit in this place, and fast to death.”

“This is very wrong,” said Vyasa sternly.

“Your grief is self-indulgent and excessive.

You have not heard what I have been telling you

so I will repeat it, in another way.

Please pay attention.” And Vyasa spoke again

about the wheel of time, and how it brings

both pleasure and pain to everyone on earth.

“We are born; we die. And in between

we briefly act. We are like transient bubbles

arising on the surface of a stream:

not here, then here, and then again not here.

All that happens, everything we do,

is conditioned by unfolding time.

We make plans, choices, we act well or badly,

and think the outcomes are of our own making.

But it is time, working through our actions,

that shapes events. This war, Yudhishthira,

that gives you so much pain, was predetermined;

every death was unavoidable,

no matter how it seems.”

The Pandava

was silent. Then Arjuna asked Krishna

to speak to the downcast king. Yudhishthira

had loved his cousin since they had first met,

more deeply, even, than he loved his brothers.

Krishna held his hand and, speaking gently,

told him he should not grieve, emphasizing

everything that Vyasa had said before him.

As he spoke, he glowed with a gentle light.

“Those who were killed on the field of battle

are like figures in our dreams. We have awoken;

they are no more. You should not weep for them.

They all died fighting bravely, as true heroes.”

Vyasa spoke again. “Any kingdom

needs a ruler to enforce the law,

to punish those who act improperly.

That is what you did by waging war

against Duryodhana and his supporters.

You set out to protect the social order;

you acted righteously.”

“But it was greed

that motivated me,” groaned Yudhishthira,

“and, but for that, millions of brave men,

prematurely swept to Yama’s realm,

would be here now.”

Vyasa shook his head.

“Your cousin sinned against morality.

To have refrained from punishing transgression

would have made you complicit in that sin.

Therefore, the war you fought was justified.

You did your duty as the Dharma King.

As for responsibility—consider

who is the doer. It may be human beings,

it may be the gods, it may be chance, it may

be karma, the consequence of previous actions.

Where the gods act through a human instrument

they are accountable—just as, if a man

chops down a lovely tree, we blame the man

and not the ax he uses. You may object

that even if the gods determine deeds,

the people who perform them are responsible

if they intend them for their own purposes

and desire their fruits. But this is not correct.

The gods are still finally accountable.

No one can escape what is ordained.

“But even when someone commits wrongdoing

on their own initiative, it can be

expiated by subsequent good acts.

If you believe that acts arise randomly

by chance, then good and bad do not exist;

the world is mere chaos. But that will not do.

People want to distinguish good from bad

and the most perfect guide to that is dharma.

Furthermore, actions have consequences

for the one who performs them—that is karma.

“So you should be confident, Yudhishthira,

that you have rightly followed kshatriya dharma.

But in atonement for the suffering

the war has brought, you can ensure your conduct

is exemplary from this time onward.”

“My guilt is too appalling to be expunged

by mere good deeds. Only the most severe

ascetic discipline will do. Please tell me

of hermitages that will meet my need.”

Vyasa said, “Sometimes, Yudhishthira,

right looks like wrong. That’s how it is with you.

You have acted rightly, as was ordained,

yet, blind to this, you burn with wrongheaded guilt.

“The solution I prescribe for you

is to perform a great horse sacrifice.

That sacrifice will require huge resources

of energy and wealth. It will be hard.

Start by going in turn to all the kingdoms

whose kings you killed in battle. Make peace with them

with soothing words. Appoint their sons or brothers

as successors, and have them consecrated.

If there is no one left in the male line,

have queens or princesses appointed ruler.

After encouraging those territories

in this way, return to Hastinapura

and prepare for the horse sacrifice.

In that manner, even though the war

was ordained by the gods, you will atone

for any shameful motive you may have had.”

For the first time, Yudhishthira was hopeful.

He began to see a way to conquer grief.

He asked Vyasa to explain more fully

right and wrong action. Vyasa answered him,

then suggested that Yudhishthira

should go to Bhishma for more profound teaching

before the patriarch gave up his life.

“I am not worthy,” said Yudhishthira,

“to approach Bhishma, guilty as I am

of his great suffering on his bed of arrows.”

“Nonsense!” said Krishna. “Stiffen your resolve

and do what Vyasa tells you. He knows best.

The whole kingdom is waiting for you—please

make us all happy.”

Yudhishthira stood up.

He had put aside his spiritual torment

and found some peace of mind. The time had come

for the Pandavas to enter the city.

After worshiping the gods, Yudhishthira,

radiant as the moon in the firmament,

mounted a gleaming chariot, draped with the skins

of antelopes. It was drawn by sixteen

auspicious white cattle, driven by Bhima.

Arjuna grasped the dazzling white parasol;

the twins held ceremonial yak-tail whisks.

The rest of the royal party followed—

a line of chariots, carts and palanquins

scattered with fragrant flowers and perfumed powders,

escorted by huge elephants, foot soldiers,

horses, and musicians blowing trumpets.

The streets of Hastinapura were close-packed

with joyful citizens. The royal cortège

processed through the decorated entrance

and up the King’s Way hung with welcoming flags

and swagged with fragrant garlands. On each side

of the broad thoroughfare stood splendid mansions,

and women leaned from every balcony,

waving and singing praises. At the far end,

in the vast and well-proportioned square

stood the royal palace, festooned with flowers.

Yudhishthira descended from his chariot

and paid reverence to the effigies

of the gods, scattering them with petals.

After he had honored Dhritarashtra

and Dhaumya, the household priest, Yudhishthira

bestowed many lavish gifts on brahmins—

sweets, gold, jewels, cattle, clothing—

and they loudly blessed him and sang his praises.

When the noise died down, one Charvaka

approached Yudhishthira, to speak with him.

Disguised as a brahmin, he was in fact

a rakshasa, a friend of Duryodhana.

“All these brahmins,” he said, “have entrusted me

to speak for them. They wish me to say this:

‘May evil come to the Pandavas. Curses

be upon you for slaughtering your kin!’”

The brahmins howled him down. “You wicked monster,