Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (71 page)

you do not speak for us. We bless the king!”

Then, simply by chanting “hum,” the brahmins

burned up the rakshasa. All were relieved.

After the brahmins left, Krishna said,

“I always honor brahmins. They can kill

through their ascetic power, but at the same time

they are easy to please. Now, Yudhishthira,

be cheerful! Be glad of your good fortune,

kill your enemies, protect your subjects,

honor brahmins—and do not be weak!”

“Tell me what Yudhishthira did then,”

said Janamejaya, “once he regained

the kingdom.” Vaishampayana continued.

The royal son of Kunti shed his grief.

He sat enthroned, surrounded by his household,

and held an audience for his subjects,

who brought him gifts according to their means.

Dhaumya lit a sacred fire on the altar

and assembled all the objects he would need.

Then, with Draupadi seated by his side,

Yudhishthira was duly consecrated

king of the Bharatas. And so it was

that the Pandava took back his kingdom

in the presence of those who wished him well.

Yudhishthira ordained that Dhritarashtra

should be treated by all with deep respect,

as he had been before. Vidura,

Sanjaya and Yuyutsu should attend

the aged king. Yudhishthira installed

Vidura as his own adviser. Bhima

was heir apparent, and worthy Sanjaya

was put in charge of records and revenues.

Nakula was made head of the army.

Arjuna was to ensure public order

and look out for subversion in the kingdom.

The king required sweet-natured Sahadeva

to be his personal bodyguard at all times.

The first shraddha rites were carried out

for the Pandavas’ kinsmen killed in battle.

Dhritarashtra made lavish donations

to brahmins, in memory of his sons.

No one was forgotten, and the king

was specially solicitous to women

who had lost all their male relatives,

guaranteeing them royal protection.

He made sure the poor were well provided for.

The next morning, Yudhishthira’s first act

was to design a system of rewards

appropriate to every class of person

who was dependent on him. In doing so

he laid down a ground plan for the way

the kingdom would be run. This calmed his mind.

Then he went to Krishna. The dark-skinned one

was sitting in deep meditation. Dressed

in yellow silk, seated on a fine couch,

he looked like a rare jewel set in gold.

The king greeted him; he did not reply.

Yudhishthira marveled at how still he was.

He bowed to Krishna as the blessed Lord

and gave voice to his devotion, speaking

his many names. “O origin of all things,

changing and unchanging, without beginning

and without end, ruler of all the worlds,

I worship you. I submit to your will.”

Krishna stretched his limbs and smiled at him.

“Bhishma is meditating on me—my mind

had gone to be with him. When he is no more,

the earth will become like a starry sky

without its moon. Yudhishthira, you should go

and seek teaching from him, otherwise

his profound wisdom will vanish with him.”

“I will,” said Yudhishthira, “and Bhishma needs

to see you.” Krishna’s chariot was made ready

and they set off for the field of Kurukshetra

together with a mounted retinue.

“Look there,” said Krishna, “over to the right

are the lakes that Rama Jamadagnya filled

with kshatriyas’ blood, when he destroyed them

twenty-one times over.”

“Then how was it,”

asked the king, “that kshatriyas survived

to perish in such numbers at Kurukshetra?”

As they traveled, Krishna told the story.

“
L
ONG AGO
, when people lived for thousands of years, the earth was tyrannized by violent kshatriyas, burning and looting, persecuting brahmins, causing mayhem everywhere. Some of them killed the seer Jamadagni, and in revenge, his son, the fiery-tempered Rama Jamadagnya, swore to rid the earth of kshatriyas. Twenty-one times he almost succeeded, slaughtering men and boys by the million. But each time, a few survived. Some were secretly protected by their mothers, or not yet born when the massacres took place. Others were hidden by seers, or by cows, monkeys, bears, or by the ocean.

“Eventually, Rama offered the earth to the seer and ancestor, Kashyapa, who banished Rama to a distant spot, in order to preserve the remnant of kshatriyas. The earth was in a state of anarchy because there were no kings to enforce order. The goddess Earth pleaded with Kashyapa to create kings, in order that she would not be continually ravaged, and she nominated kshatriyas who were particularly heroic. Kashyapa appointed kings from among them, and they founded lineages. The Pandavas and other royal kshatriyas who live today are their descendants. As for Rama, he devoted himself to becoming a great master of weaponry. He was the teacher of Bhishma, and of Karna—with the tragic results we know about. He has always retained his hatred of kshatriyas.”

Now they were getting close to where Bhishma lay.

The field was still a monument to death—

the ground a mess of bones and hair and hides;

millions of skulls gathered up in heaps

waiting to be dealt with. The remains

of funeral pyres were everywhere. Mountains

of arrows, axes, maces, swords lay rusting.

The patriarch lay with great seers in attendance—

Narada, Vyasa, Devasthana . . .

His eyes closed, he was engaged in praising

Krishna, the supreme deity.

“O Lord,

the unmanifest within the manifest;

the knower of the field, the supreme witness;

light of the world, lord of all creation;

whose fiery brilliance is greater than the sun;

lord of all that moves, and everything

that is still; the eternal irreducible;

who is the embodiment of perfect freedom;

whose hair is the rain clouds, in whose limbs

run the life-giving waters; who is time

and beyond time; who is the supreme Self;

who is the maker and who is the destroyer—

I devote myself to you. Help me to see

the path to blessedness in the world hereafter.”

So prayed Bhishma in his hymn of praise.

He was like the sun, and his many arrows

were its rays. Krishna greeted him gently.

He could see the patriarch’s strength was fading.

“I hope your mind is clear, O Bharata.

I hope you are not in unbearable pain.

Most excellent man, no one surpasses you

in wisdom and ascetic discipline.

Here is the virtuous King Yudhishthira.

The Pandava is struggling with searing grief

after the death of so many of his kin.

Please speak to him. Help him to understand

the dharma of kings; resolve his perplexity.”

Krishna conferred a blessing on the patriarch,

and Bhishma witnessed, with his inner eye,

the divine manifestation of Vishnu—

in the past, the present and in time to come—

a revelation granted to very few.

He raised his voice in wonder, joy and praise.

“Bhishma, in the days remaining to you,”

said Krishna, “please instruct Yudhishthira

in all he should know.” Bhishma joined his hands.

“My mind is foggy—pain from all my wounds

is sapping my energy. My speech is slurred.

And how can I lay claim to wisdom, Krishna,

when you are here? I would be ashamed—

it would be like a pupil holding forth

in the presence of his revered master.”

“Greatest mainstay of the Bharatas,

your wisdom is legendary,” replied Krishna.

“But I can ease your physical distress.

You will have no more pain or tiredness,

your mind will be clear, and you will remember

all you ever knew. With your celestial eye

you will see the truth of things entire,

as if watching fish in limpid water.”

The sun was dropping behind the western hills.

All took their leave and left Bhishma to rest.

The royal party rode back to the city.

In the morning, Yudhishthira decided

he would go back to Bhishma with no escort,

only Krishna and his family.

They found the seers around him, as before.

Yudhishthira could not bring himself to speak,

so Krishna approached. “How is it with you?

I hope you are comfortable.” Bhishma replied,

“Thanks to you, all my pain has left me,

my mind and understanding are diamond clear.

But why, tell me, do you not yourself

teach Yudhishthira?” Krishna answered him,

“I wish to do you good. What you teach the king

will become known throughout the three worlds,

bringing you great glory. The Pandavas

are here. Please speak to them like a father;