Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (81 page)

“‘I wish to become a brahmin,’ said Matanga. ‘That is the purpose of my privations, and when I attain my goal, I shall return home.’

“‘That is impossible,’ said Indra. ‘Chandalas can never become brahmins no matter what rigorous practices they perform. You are wasting your time—you will die at this rate. Better to go home to your father.’

“But Matanga ignored this advice and proceeded to stand on one foot for a hundred years. Indra appeared to him again, and was stern with him. ‘What you are trying to do simply cannot be done,’ he said. ‘A four-legged creature, having spent many lifetimes in exemplary service to humankind, might eventually succeed in being born as a chandala. A chandala, after many lifetimes as a chandala, might be reborn as a shudra. So it goes on. You can see how many virtuous lifetimes it would take to be born as a brahmin—and longer still to be born as the kind of brahmin who is learned in the scriptures and recites the Gayatri mantra. It is for this reason that brahmins are so highly honored—because of all the accumulated virtue lodged in them. So give up your foolishness, and let me give you a boon by way of consolation.’

“But, again, Matanga refused to listen. He went away and stood on one foot for one thousand years, in deep meditation. Then, still disappointed, he stood on his toes for a hundred years, until his legs became knotted and swollen and his body was no more than a skin-covered skeleton.

“Indra came to him again, and Matanga spoke bitterly to him. ‘It seems that destiny is very cruel. A man may be born a brahmin and receive respect even if he behaves badly, while I, who have strained every sinew and have behaved righteously, am doomed by my mother’s fault to inferior rank. Well, let me have a boon from you then. Let me be able to take on any form at will. Let me be adored by brahmins and kshatriyas. Let me enjoy any pleasure I wish for. And let my fame live for ever.’

“‘I will grant you this,’ said Indra: ‘Your name will be celebrated by poets. You will be adored by women. And you will be famous throughout the three worlds.’

“So you see, Yudhishthira,” said Bhishma,

“only in the cycle of rebirth

can a person’s place in the social order

be transformed. Matanga could not succeed.

Each person should pursue their own dharma

in the hope of better future lives.

And brahmins should be honored above all—

worshiped for their piety and knowledge.

For, whether they are virtuous or not,

they have earned their station in their former lives.

Feed a brahmin and you feed the gods.

Furthermore, they have particular powers

and can be dangerous if they are crossed.

Yes, you should always honor brahmins:

‘Protect them like sons, respect them like your father.’

That is the golden rule to bear in mind.”

“Please speak of compassion,” said Yudhishthira.

“When we are faced with others’ suffering

what should we feel?”

Bhishma told this story:

“
T
HE GREAT RISHI
Chyavana, who was benign and loved by all, decided to undertake the discipline known as Udavasa: for twelve years, he would immerse himself in water. He took himself off to Prayaga, the place where the river Yamuna meets the Ganga. At that spot, the surging waters of the two great rivers combine forces in their rush toward the sea. Chyavana braced himself against the mighty current, but the river, out of respect, flowed past him and left him undisturbed. He stood like a block of wood, contemplating the changeless, ever-changing river. Sometimes he lay down in the water and slept peacefully.

“The fishes and other creatures that lived in the river became his friends and nuzzled him as they swam around. In time, his skin became overgrown with river moss, his hair and beard matted and green with algae. Freshwater molluscs made their home on his body as if it were a rock.

“One day, a group of poor tribal fishermen came to the river and, casting wide their net, they pulled in hundreds of fishes, and Chyavana among them. The rishi was grief-stricken at the slaughter of so many fishes, and sighed repeatedly. The fishermen were astonished to find him in their net and instantly saw that this was a holy man. They prostrated themselves before him. ‘We never meant to disturb you, O great one. Tell us what we should do to make amends.’

“Chyavana, sitting in the midst of the dead fishes, said, ‘These fishes were my companions—we belong together. So either kill me too, or sell me with them.’

“The fishermen were horrified and hurried off to consult the king. With his ministers and his priest, the king came to the riverbank and bowed in reverence before Chyavana. ‘Holy one,’ he said, ‘tell me what I can do for you—anything at all.’

“‘These fishermen have worked hard,’ said the rishi. ‘I want you to pay them a proper price for the fishes, and for me. You must decide what that price should be.’

“The king told his priest to pay the fishermen one thousand coins for Chyavana. ‘That is not the right price,’ said the rishi.

“‘A hundred thousand coins, then,’ said the king.

“‘That is not the right price,’ said Chyavana. ‘You should consult your ministers.’

“‘Ten million coins!’ cried the king in desperation. ‘Half my kingdom—or even the whole of it!’

“‘Half your kingdom, or even the whole of it, is not the right price,’ said Chyavana.

“The king was completely at a loss, and went back to his palace, sighing. He knew that if the rishi was not treated well he had the power to destroy the three worlds.

“An ascetic who lived in the woods not far from the palace came to see the king, and offered a solution. ‘There is no wealth that can be set against the value of a rishi,’ he said. ‘Cows are also priceless—therefore the right price for Chyavana is one cow.’

“The king hurried back to the river. ‘Holy one,’ he said, ‘I think the right price for you is one cow.’ And he held his breath.

“‘Yes!’ said Chyavana, ‘that is the right price indeed.’ And he discoursed for some time on the qualities, significance and virtues of cows.

“The fishermen received the cow as payment, and begged the rishi to accept it from them, as a gift. For this, Chyavana blessed them, and told them that they were absolved from their sins and would go immediately to heaven, along with the fishes.

“And so they did.”

Bhishma had recounted a wealth of stories

in answer to Yudhishthira. But once more

the Pandava was suddenly assailed

by despair and doubt. “Somehow, these tales

seem a distraction. The hard fact remains

that millions of men have died because of me;

millions of wives and children are bereaved.

I shall surely go to the deepest hell.”

Yudhishthira’s mind was turning yet again

to renunciation and a hermit’s life.

Bhishma did not argue but, instead,

talked at great length to him about the ways

a king and householder can make amends

for his previous actions. He described

the many kinds of gifts he could bestow.

“Take reservoirs, for instance. A well-built tank

is a delight to gods and men alike.

It furthers dharma, wealth and pleasure—all three.

The king who builds such tanks acquires the merit

equivalent to many sacrifices.

In making the gift of water to his kingdom

he gives the very means of life itself.

People, cattle and diverse lovely creatures

will come to drink, thanks to his generous act.

In the same way, the gift of fruit-bearing trees,

offering shelter from fierce midday sun,

will bring great rewards.

“As for penance,

one who abstains from sensual excess,

who fasts and lives a life of strict discipline,

who embraces hardships and privations,

will atone for shortcomings in this life

and be well repaid in the life hereafter.

All this can be done, while at the same time

living as an active and potent ruler.”

Yudhishthira tried to stiffen his resolve.

Turning to his brothers and to Draupadi

who sat nearby, he told them he no longer

hankered for a life of renunciation,

but was reconciled to being the king.

They applauded him, relieved and joyful,

shouting, “Yes, Yudhishthira! Well done, brother!”

“Which is the best of gifts,” asked the king,

“which gift brings the greatest benefits

in the next life?”

“Without doubt,” said Bhishma,

“giving to the destitute is highly praised.

But you should also give in the right spirit

to avoid attachment to possessions.

Make sure the act of generosity

is accomplished before the gift is given.

Above all, give to brahmins, for they are

the most precious beings that walk the earth.”

“Do all the virtuous go to the same heaven?”

asked Yudhishthira. “No, there are many heavens

just as there are many hells,” said Bhishma.

“People go to the afterlife they deserve.”

Then he told the story of Gautama.

“
T
HE SAGE
G
AUTAMA
came across a baby elephant that had lost its mother and was wandering about, hungry and bereft. Gautama, full of compassion, took it home and reared it as if it were his own son. In time it became full-grown, huge as a hill.

“One day, the god Indra, assuming the form of King Dhritarashtra, seized the elephant and made off with it. Gautama pursued him. ‘Please don’t rob me of my elephant. I have brought it up as my own child and now it renders me useful service, fetching wood and carrying water for me. It is very dear to me.’

“‘I’ll give you a thousand cattle in exchange, and a hundred maidservants and five hundred gold pieces. What is a brahmin doing with an elephant anyway? Elephants are meant to belong to kings, so I am entitled to take it.’

“‘You can keep your cattle and maidservants and gold,’ said Gautama.

‘What use is wealth to such as I? If you don’t give back my elephant I shall pursue you, even to Yama’s realm, where the virtuous live in joy and the wicked in misery, and I shall take him back from you.’

“‘You won’t find me there,’ laughed Dhritarashtra, ‘I shall be going to a higher realm than that.’

“‘Then I shall pursue you to that heaven for the blessed, where gandharvas and apsarases dance and sing for ever; and there I shall force you to give me back my elephant.’

“‘That is a delightful place indeed,’ said Dhritarashtra, ‘but I am destined for a higher realm.’

“‘I shall pursue you to the heaven bright with flowers and lovely woods, where those who are learned in the scriptures go; and there I shall force you to give up my elephant.’

“‘Such a place must be extremely beautiful, but I shall be going to a higher realm than that.’

“Gautama named and described one heaven after another but, each time, Dhritarashtra gave the same answer.

“Finally, Gautama realized. ‘Oh! You are not Dhritarashtra at all! I think you are the great god Indra who likes to roam through the entire universe and play tricks on people—I hope I have not offended you by not recognizing you before.’

“‘I am very pleased that you have recognized me at all,’ said Indra. ‘Not many people do. You can ask a boon of me.’

“‘Then please give me back my elephant. He’s only young, and very attached to me. He is the son I have never had.’

“‘Take him,’ said Indra. ‘And because of your goodness and integrity, you and he shall come to heaven with me without delay.’ And Gautama and his elephant were taken up into Indra’s chariot, and seen no more on earth.”

“How can we know,” asked Yudhishthira,

“where we will go to in the afterlife?

And when, at death, we leave our lifeless body

as though it were a lump of wood, or clay,

who goes with us into the unknown?”

Bhishma said, “This is the greatest mystery.

But here comes the revered Brihaspati,

preceptor to the gods. You should ask him.

No one is more knowledgeable than he is.”

Brihaspati had come to pay respects

to Bhishma. Yudhishthira touched his feet

and put his question. The holy one replied,

“One is born alone, and dies alone, O king.

And whether life brings ease or difficulty,

one faces it essentially alone.

Our righteous conduct is our sole companion,

our only friend in this life, and in death.

“Those who love us weep when we are dead,

then they turn away to their own concerns.

Our former deeds govern our destination.

For a while, a person goes to heaven

or to misery in hell. Then the time comes

for them to be born again in a new body.

Their good or evil deeds accompany them

and they are born appropriately—blessed,

or in an inferior position.

This is the inexorable law

of the cosmos.”

“But can a sinful person

not redeem themselves?” asked Yudhishthira.

“If one suffers an agony of remorse,”

replied the sage, “the consequence of sin

may be avoided. Remorse must be sincere,

and must be declared in front of brahmins.

Then one must fix one’s heart, with complete focus,

on rapt contemplation of the divine.

If this is done with single-mindedness

one can be cleansed of sin. Furthermore,

a person seeking merit should make gifts

to worthy brahmins, especially gifts of food.”

“Which of the virtuous observances,”

asked Yudhishthira, “carries greatest merit?”

The sage replied, “Non-harming, meditation,

obedience to teachers, self-control—

all these are part of dharma. But most precious

is non-harmfulness, because it springs

from compassion for all beings. People

who see all creatures as themselves, sharing

the joy and grief of every other being,

follow the highest dharma. Such a one

is at home everywhere, and walks the earth

weightless as a feather in the wind,

leaving no footprint. For violence brings

violence in return. Kindness breeds kindness.”

And with that, having said everything

he thought was beneficial, Brihaspati

turned away, and disappeared from sight,

returning to the heaven from whence he came.

“I am confused,” said Yudhishthira.

“We have just been told that the highest good

is non-violence, yet to perform the rites

for ancestors, animals must be slaughtered

and then the meat is eaten. Tell me, Bhishma,

what are the rights and wrongs of eating meat?”

“In my view,” said Bhishma, “to take the life

of a fellow creature just to gratify

the palate is a very heinous sin.

Meat is addictive. One who has eaten it,

and then gives it up, acquires great merit.

The seers have debated this, and all agree

one should abstain from meat—though it is argued

there are exceptions. Meat killed for sacrifice

has been called pure. And deer hunting is normal

for kshatriyas. But nevertheless,

complete non-harming is the highest dharma,

and heaven awaits those who practice it.”

“Faced with a threat,” asked Yudhishthira,

“which is more effective—conciliation,

or to placate the enemy with gifts?”

“There is no general rule,” answered Bhishma,

“it depends. But here is an example

of when conciliation can be best:

“
A
LEARNED BRAHMIN
was traveling through a forest when he was waylaid by a ghastly-looking ogre, gaunt and pale. ‘I shall eat you presently,’ said the terrible creature, ‘but if you can tell me why I am so pale and thin, I shall let you go.’

“The brahmin kept calm and considered his options. He could try to escape, but he knew the monster could run faster than he could. He could try to bargain for his life, but he had no possessions that he could offer. Instead, with a tranquil mind, he gazed into the ogre’s eyes, as one creature gazing at another, and he read there the whole history of the monster’s pain.

“‘You are living alone in this forest, without the company of your family and friends; that is why you are pale and thin. You treat your friends well, but still they are hostile to you, because they are mean-spirited. Although you try your best, you see others effortlessly rising in the world, while you are stuck here. Others look down on you and show you no respect. That is why you are so pale and thin. You have tried to steer others away from wrongdoing, but they simply despise you for it. You have worked hard, only to see others profit from your efforts. You cannot always find the right words, and that makes you ashamed and angry. You know how you would like to live, but cannot see how to achieve it. That is why you are so pale and thin, O rakshasa.’

“The ogre was nourished by this answer. The brahmin, by giving words to his condition, had made it more bearable. He praised the brahmin and let him go on his way.”

Yudhishthira asked Bhishma to recite

the names of Shiva. “I am not competent

to do so,” replied the dying patriarch,

and he requested Krishna to reply.

Krishna described his journey, some time before,

to snowy Himavat. There, he had worshiped