Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (80 page)

The lord himself has revealed to mortals

the path of devotion, which can be pursued

in the midst of action and engagement.

I learned this from the great Vyasa here.”

And Vaishampayana extolled Vyasa,

calling him the son of Narayana.

“Why do you call him that?” asked Janamejaya,

“when previously you have referred to him

as the island-born son of Parashara?”

Vaishampayana explained, relaying

what he had learned from Vyasa: “This creation

is only the most recent one of many,

stretching back through all eternity.

When Narayana stirred, and began to form

this world and its creatures, he created

a great seer named Apantaratamas

whose given task was to divide the Vedas

and make them known. Pleased with the seer’s work,

Narayana told him he would be reborn

as the son of the rishi Parashara,

and would beget, in the line of Bharata,

a race of mighty princes, who would quarrel

and destroy each other—this being

Narayana’s intention for the world.

“That is Vyasa, and those are his origins

—and who else but a portion of Narayana

could have composed the Mahabharata?”

Even after all Bhishma had taught him,

all his exhortations, all his stories,

Yudhishthira had not gained peace of mind.

“How can I be tranquil,” he cried out,

“when I see your body, blood-encrusted,

covered with running sores? When I see you

skewered on those flesh-tormenting arrows

and know your cruel suffering is my fault,

mine and Duryodhana’s? That wicked soul

has never had to face what he has done

to you, and to so many brave warriors;

never had to sit here, watching you,

our blameless and beloved grandfather,

endure a living hell because of us.

How I wish a hero’s death had saved me

from this relentless misery and remorse!”

Bhishma replied, “How can you still suppose

the slaughter was your fault? You were the channel

for forces much more powerful than yourself.

If you search for the causes of events

you should look beyond your blinkered mind.

Listen to this story:

“
A
BRAHMIN WOMAN
called Gautami, who had seen a great deal of life and had attained peace of mind, found one day that her son had been killed by a snake. A hunter caught the snake and brought it to Gautami, all trussed up with string so that it could not move.

“‘Here is the culprit!’ exclaimed the hunter, dangling the snake from his fist, ‘and now I shall kill it for you. How would you like it done? Shall I hack it to pieces? Throw it on the fire? It’s up to you—this creature has made you suffer, and now I shall show it what suffering is!’

“‘Let the snake go,’ said Gautami. ‘Killing it will not bring back my boy, and you will only incur sin yourself by doing so. I understand the difference between what can be changed and what is inevitable, and true understanding enables one to pass over life’s waters as a ship sails over the ocean.’

“‘What you say is all very well for an enlightened person,’ said the hunter. ‘But for someone down-to-earth such as myself, only revenge will bring comfort—so I’m going to kill this evil serpent. To kill one’s enemies is a virtuous act, after all—and this snake is your enemy, so by allowing me to kill it, you will acquire merit in the hereafter.’

“‘You are wrong,’ replied Gautami. ‘What good can come from tormenting an enemy? Rather, good comes from not acting cruelly to one who is in our power.’

“The argument continued, to and fro, between them; and the snake remained painfully tied up, listening, and sighing to itself. Finally it said, ‘You stupid hunter—I did not choose of my own free will to kill the child. Death told me to do it. I killed the boy, yes; but I am not an independent cause. Cause and effect are highly complex. You should not be blaming me.’

“‘Well,’ said the hunter, ‘even if you aren’t the only cause of the child’s death, you are
a
cause, and you’re the one we’ve got our hands on—so you should be killed.’

“Just then, Death himself appeared. ‘It’s true that I told the snake to kill the boy, but I was prompted by Time. So neither I nor the snake is to blame—we are not free agents. Time appointed us to do his work.’

“Then Time, too, arrived. ‘Neither I, nor Death, nor the snake is the ultimate cause of the boy’s death. That cause is the karma of the boy himself—his deeds in his previous lives. Karma is the cause no one can escape, no matter who, or what, delivers its effects.’

“‘What you say is right,’ said Gautami. ‘My son must have died as the result of his own karma—and my grief at his loss is the result of mine.’

“Gautami found comfort in this thought,”

said Bhishma, “as should you. Neither your cousin

nor you was author of this massacre.

A person’s karma shapes their life and death.

And, beyond that, there is the cosmic plan,

the grand design constructed by the gods.”

“Are we just trapped, then?” asked Yudhishthira.

“Just acting out a part provided for us,

a part we play in ignorance, until

Death comes to claim us? Tell me, Grandfather,

has anyone who leads a normal life

(not a renunciant practicing austerities)

ever defeated Death through their devotion

to dharma, through unwavering resolve?”

“Very few,” said Bhishma. “A householder,

of whom a king is the supreme example,

has to deal with so many distractions,

temptations, compromises. But there was

Sudarshana, son of the fire god . . .

“
S
UDARSHANA
had determined to conquer Death while living as a householder. He and his beautiful wife, Oghavati, lived a simple life—here at Kurukshetra, in fact. Sudarshana always impressed upon Oghavati that, for a householder, honoring a guest is the highest duty. ‘No matter what a guest asks for, we must vow always to give it—even our own bodies.’ Death, ever-watchful, was sure that, sooner or later, this vow would be broken, and then he would seize Sudarshana and carry him off.

“One day, when Sudarshana was out collecting firewood, a brahmin called at the house. Oghavati welcomed him with every attention and, after washing his feet with perfumed water, asked him why he had come, and what she could do for him. ‘I have come because I am drawn by your great beauty,’ said the brahmin. ‘I want you to take off your clothes and surrender yourself to me.’

“Oghavati was utterly dismayed, and tried to interest the brahmin in other gifts. But he would not be put off. Remembering what her husband had told her, she took the brahmin to her bed.

“When Sudarshana returned with the wood, he was surprised not to be greeted at the door by his wife, and even more surprised when he called her and there was no reply. Locked in the brahmin’s arms, Oghavati was too ashamed to speak. Instead, the brahmin called out, ‘I came to your house as a visitor, and your wife is giving me what I asked for—though she did try to offer me other things instead. I am very much enjoying her hospitality, and you can do what you like about it!’

“Death, hanging around in the shadows, was certain that Sudarshana would now break his vow, and was ready to strike him down. After all, no more painful test than this could be imagined. But Sudarshana called back, ‘Please enjoy yourself. You are my honored guest, and anything I have is yours.’

“At that, the brahmin emerged from the bedroom and revealed himself to be Dharma himself, the embodiment of duty. He praised Sudarshana and Oghavati for their great virtue and told them that Oghavati, whose devotion had protected her from being defiled, would be transformed. Half of her would become the river Oghavati—which flows through Kurukshetra to this day. The other half would accompany Sudarshana to heaven, which he would enter in his bodily form, since he had conquered Death. Meanwhile, Death, frustrated, went off on other, more fruitful, business.”

Then Bhishma spoke at length about the duty

of care and generosity to brahmins.

“If someone breaks a promise to make gifts

to a brahmin, then all their previous merit,

all their good deeds and ritual observances,

will be canceled out. To invite a brahmin

and then to give him nothing is an act

as serious as if one had murdered him.”

“I have often wondered,” said Yudhishthira,

“whether men or women enjoy sex more.

How could one ever know?”

Bhishma replied,

“Only a person who had changed their sex

could know for sure. On this, there is the story

of King Bhangashvana and the god Indra.

“
T
HERE ONCE LIVED
a king called Bhangashvana. He was upright and virtuous and was known as a royal sage. But he had no children. He resolved to perform the fire sacrifice, which he hoped would bring him children; and, in due course, a hundred sons were born to him.

“Indra was infuriated by this ritual, which involved exclusive sacrifice to Agni, the fire god. He felt slighted and, from then on, looked for ways to punish Bhangashvana. Sometime later, the king went on a hunting expedition. Seizing his opportunity, Indra plunged him into a state of confusion, so that he wandered aimlessly in the thick forest, faint from hunger and thirst.

“At last he came to a beautiful lake. He immersed himself and drank deeply—and when he emerged, he found that he was now a woman. The king was appalled at the loss of his manhood. How could he explain this transformation to everyone who knew him? How would he even be able to mount his horse? He managed, however, with difficulty, and rode home, embarrassed. He—now she—told her wives and sons what had happened and, leaving the kingdom to her sons, she retired to the woods and lived as the wife of an ascetic. By this man, she bore a hundred sons.

“When the time was right, she took these hundred sons to the court and asked her previous sons to share the kingdom with them, as children of the same parent. This they did, and the two hundred sons and their families lived harmoniously together.

“Seeing this, Indra was mortified. ‘It seems that, intending to punish Bhangashvana, I have done him nothing but good!’ He took on the appearance of a brahmin and went to the court. There he spoke to the first hundred sons. ‘How has this situation come about? Even brothers of the same father often quarrel, yet here you are, sharing the kingdom with the sons of an ascetic, letting them enjoy
your
inheritance.’

“His words had the desired effect. The two sets of brothers began to distrust one another and, very soon, they came to blows, and they did not stop fighting until all of them lay dead.

“When the news reached Bhangashvana, she was overcome with grief, and poured out her lamentations to a passing brahmin, telling him the whole story. The brahmin then revealed himself as Indra, and explained that she, when she was king, had insulted him by her exclusive worship of the fire god. Bhangashvana knelt before him. ‘Please forgive me,’ she begged. ‘It was only my great longing for children that led me to perform that ritual. I had absolutely no wish to offend you.’

“Indra was mollified and granted her a boon: one of her sets of sons would be brought back to life. ‘Which sons shall I revive,’ asked Indra, ‘the first-born, or the ones born to you as a woman?’

“‘The second-born,’ replied Bhangashvana. ‘Women are more loving, and so I am more attached to those younger sons of mine.” Indra was impressed by her answer, and told her that he would bring all two hundred sons back to life.

“‘I will give you another boon,’ he said. ‘You can choose whether to remain a woman or to resume the male sex you were born with.’

“‘I choose to remain a woman,’ said Bhangashvana. Indra was amazed, and asked her to explain. ‘Because women enjoy sex far more than men do,’ replied Bhangashvana.

“That is how we know the answer to your question.”

As Bhishma waited on his bed of arrows

for the appointed moment of his death,

Yudhishthira continued with his questions.

“How can a person become a brahmin

when they are born in a different order?

I know that the kshatriya Vishvamitra

became a brahmin through his austerities.”

Bhishma told him, “That is true, but generally

such an achievement is impossible

within one lifetime. Only through the process

of multiple rebirths, acquiring merit

lifetime after lifetime, can it be done.

The story of Matanga bears this out.

“
A
BOY
, Matanga, brought up as a brahmin, was sent on an errand by his father. He traveled on a cart drawn by a donkey which, being young, kept veering off the track, seeking to rejoin its mother. Matanga beat it savagely.

“Seeing this, the donkey’s mother said to her offspring, ‘Never mind, son. What more can you expect from such a fellow. No brahmin would have beaten you so cruelly. I happen to know that this boy is really a chandala, born of a lustful brahmin woman by a shudra hairdresser.’

“Matanga rushed back to his father and told him what the mother donkey had said. ‘How can I be happy with such a history!’ he lamented. ‘I shall go to the forest and undergo severe austerities to rid myself of this impurity.’ This he did, enduring every sort of privation, with the aim of attaining brahmin status. His efforts came to the attention of the gods, and Indra appeared to him. ‘Why are you doing this, my boy, refraining from every human pleasure when you should be enjoying yourself? Tell me what you want and I shall grant you a boon.’