Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (82 page)

Shiva, who had granted him a son

named Samba, born from his wife, Jambavati.

He had learned the thousand names of Shiva,

at the lovely hermitage of Upamanyu.

Now he recited them, to the great benefit

of all who were attending upon Bhishma.

In question after question, the Dharma King

sought to plumb the depths of Bhishma’s wisdom:

What benefits may be obtained by fasting?

What consequences flow from hurting brahmins?

What gifts should be offered at ceremonies?

What is the origin of the shraddha rites?

And many more. It was as though he heard

in his mind’s ear a clamorous call for answers,

a longing for wise guidance, in the voices

of those who would come after, down the ages.

The patriarch was tired. Day after day

Yudhishthira had put to him his questions

and his doubts. Now the time was approaching

for Bhishma to depart. But, while there was time,

the king raised the few remaining matters

that most concerned him.

“Please tell me,” he said,

“how to reconcile the authority

of the Vedas with practical experience.

When should one rely on one’s own reason,

when be guided by others’ example,

and when seek out the counsel of the wise?

How can there be one dharma when there is

more than one source of authority?”

“Only fools rely on their own experience,”

replied Bhishma. “The deepest understanding

of the true reality that underlies

all that is, the one and formless Brahman,

comes only from protracted meditation.

You should carry any doubts you have

to those immersed in knowledge of the Vedas.”

“It seems,” said Yudhishthira, “that outcomes

cannot be guaranteed. Some villains prosper;

some virtuous people struggle to succeed

and still may fail.”

“Unless the seed is planted

there can be no crop,” said Bhishma. “Time

determines everything and, in the end,

time protects dharma from wickedness.

Be steadfast and, to keep on the right path,

recite the names of the gods, at dawn and dusk.”

After this, Bhishma became silent

and, around him, the circle of his listeners

fell silent too, seers and Pandavas,

motionless as figures in a painting.

Vyasa told him that Yudhishthira

had now been restored to his own best nature,

and suggested Bhishma should dismiss him.

With a few last words of good advice,

Bhishma told Yudhishthira to go

back to Hastinapura, to take up

the reins of kingship. But he should return

immediately after the winter solstice.

When the pale and gentle winter sun

had turned toward the north, Yudhishthira

and the whole court arrived at Kurukshetra.

They had with them materials they would need

for Bhishma’s funeral rites—silk cloth, flowers,

ghee, fragrant sandalwood and dry tinder.

Many priests accompanied them, carrying

sacrificial fires. They found Bhishma

attended by Vyasa and Narada,

and some kings who had survived the war.

Yudhishthira approached the bed of arrows

where the patriarch lay with his eyes closed.

“If you can hear me, Grandfather,” he said,

“I want you to know that I am here

and so are all your kin.”

“Ah,” said Bhishma,

opening his eyes. Yudhishthira

cradled Bhishma’s withered hand in his.

The dying man addressed Dhritarashtra.

“My time has come. So many days have passed

while I have lain here. It seems a century.

I want you to stop grieving for your sons.

What has happened was long preordained

and could not have been other than it was.

Treat the Pandavas as your own sons

as, morally, they are. They will protect you.”

Then Bhishma worshiped Krishna, the supreme

creator, the divine, the eternal Soul.

He asked permission to give up his life.

“I give you leave, great Bhishma, blameless one,”

replied Krishna. Then Bhishma asked permission

of the Pandavas. Tears streamed down their faces

as they consented.

Bhishma spoke no more.

With yogic concentration, he withdrew

the vital force from each part of his body

and, to the amazement of all who watched,

the dreadful wounds shrank and disappeared.

His whole body healed, despite the arrows.

Then his remaining life-breath exited

through the crown of his head, and flew to heaven

like a great meteor. Celestial drums

were heard, and beautiful and perfumed flowers

rained down. Bhishma, the great patriarch,

was dead.

The Pandavas and Vidura

wrapped the body in a cloth of silk

and placed it on the pyre. Brahmins made

oblations and chanted Vedic hymns. The pyre

was doused with sandalwood oil and black aloe.

The fragrant fuel was lit, and the remains

flared up, glowed, then were reduced to ash.

The party walked together to the Ganga

and poured water libations for the goddess,

Bhishma’s mother. They saw her rise up, weeping,

lamenting for her son, remembering

his great achievements. “Yet my illustrious son,

proud, unbeaten, was killed by Shikhandin!”

“Not so,” said Krishna. “It was Arjuna,

shielded by Shikhandin, who killed your son.

No one but Arjuna was capable,

and then only because Bhishma allowed it.

But since he was no ordinary mortal,

but one of the Vasus, cursed to be born human,

now he has gone to the heaven where he belongs.”

Ganga was consoled. The royal party

paid tribute to the goddess, and she blessed them.

Then they traveled back to Hastinapura.

Bhishma was no more. After the rites

were over, and libations had been poured,

Yudhishthira sank down on the riverbank.

Seeing him despondent, his brothers too

sat gloomily beside him on the ground.

Dhritarashtra tried to encourage him.

“Come now, it is Gandhari and I

who should be crushed by grief. Have we not lost

a hundred sons, as if they were never born?

You have gained all you were fighting for.”

Krishna, too, rebuked him. “This is feeble!

There is a world of tasks awaiting you.”

“Krishna,” said the king, “you have always loved

and supported me. Let me now retreat

to a life in the forest. I find no peace,

thinking of the horrors of the war

fought for my sake.” Vyasa spoke sternly to him.

“Yudhishthira, you are acting like a child.

Are we wasting our breath when we remind you,

over and over, of your proper duties,

when we speak of destiny’s part in this?

It is as if you are mired in ignorance

despite your long days sitting at Bhishma’s feet,

despite what Krishna and I have said to you.

If you’re incapable of being convinced,

then assuage your unnecessary guilt

by performing the horse sacrifice.”

“How can I?” replied Yudhishthira. “The war

completely drained the coffers of the state.

That sacrifice requires enormous riches.”

Vyasa said, “I know where there is treasure.

On the snowy slopes of the Himalaya

vast quantities of gold were once buried

by King Marutta, after a sacrifice.

That treasure is still there.”

Yudhishthira

was astonished. “How did that come about?”

Vyasa told him:

“
K
ING M
ARUTTA
wanted to perform a great sacrifice—a sacrifice on such a vast scale that no ordinary priest could perform it. He approached Brihaspati, priest to the gods, who lived in Indra’s realm. At the prompting of Indra, who was envious of Marutta, Brihaspati refused. ‘I certainly cannot act as priest for a mere mortal,’ he said. ‘Find someone else.’

“Marutta approached Brihaspati’s brother, Samvarta. The two brothers were bitter rivals. Samvarta had left Indra’s realm because he could no longer bear his brother’s jealous behavior, and Indra always took Brihaspati’s side. Marutta found him living simply in the forest, and made his request.

“Samvarta told Marutta he would do it. ‘But you will need vast wealth,’ he said, and advised Marutta to apply to Lord Shiva. ‘Only he can provide the wealth you need. But if you are successful, and my brother comes to hear of it, he and Indra will be very angry, and will seek to do you harm. You will require the utmost steadiness of mind.’ Marutta understood.

“‘High in the beautiful Himalaya,’ said Samvarta, ‘Shiva lives with his consort, Uma, engaged in the constant practice of austerity. You must go there.’

“Marutta did so, and sat in meditation for days and weeks, contemplating the many names of Shiva. At last Shiva rewarded him by granting him quantities of gold the like of which had never been seen on earth.

“Brihaspati, hearing of this, was eaten up with rage and jealousy, thinking of the splendid gifts his brother would receive. He grew emaciated, and Indra was concerned about him. Indra sent the fire god, Agni, as messenger to Marutta, offering him immortality if he would take Brihaspati as his priest for the sacrifice.

“‘Greetings to Indra. I hope all is well with him,’ said Marutta, ‘but Samvarta will be my priest for the sacrifice. Please tell Brihaspati that, since he has acted as priest to no less a being than the great Indra, it would certainly demean him to serve a mere mortal.’ Agni pestered and cajoled until finally Marutta grew angry. ‘Go away at once, or I will burn you with my evil eye acquired through austerity!’ Agni fled.

“Indra sent a gandharva to Marutta, armed with a thunderbolt, by way of persuasion. Marutta refused to change his mind, and Samvarta protected him from the force of the thunderbolt and the howling winds and rain that Indra flung at him in his wrath.

“Then Marutta had the wise idea of inviting Indra to attend the sacrifice. The god came, and was delighted with everything. The sacrifice was a great success. Marutta gave away gold by the sackful to all the brahmins present, and there was still a great deal left. This he buried, and it is that gold I am advising you to find. When you bring it back to Hastinapura, you will be able to hold the horse sacrifice.”

Yudhishthira, recovering his spirits,

consulted his ministers. But Krishna saw

that the king was not yet firm of purpose.

“My friend,” he said, “your war is not yet finished.

Your understanding is still clouded over

by complicated doubt. That is an illness

akin to bodily disease. Enmeshed

in memory and regret, you make yourself

weak and ineffective—as a tiger

caught in a net struggles this way and that

but gets nowhere. You have been victorious

in the war with weapons. You cannot bring back

the men who left their bones on the battlefield.

Now you must win the war within yourself

and seek right understanding. That is the war

that all must fight alone. There are no weapons,

no friends and allies, no supporting troops,

only your own strength. Be vigilant.

Know that craving takes many subtle forms,

and can wear the mask of righteousness.

It fritters energy; it is the broad road

to destruction. Know it for what it is.

“Persistently you long for the forest life

of renunciation. You deceive yourself.

Renunciation is a state of mind

you can achieve anywhere. You do not need

extravagant gestures, outward show, bringing

grief to those whose welfare you should cherish.

“You might say desire informs all action,

but craving, grasping, is a different matter.

To lead a life of action, without craving,

as a river flows naturally to the sea

acting simply according to its nature—

that is the highest dharma, Yudhishthira.

Discipline your mind. Start preparation

for the horse sacrifice, and let it be

the most magnificent ever seen on earth.

Acquire great merit in the eyes of the gods!”

Arjuna and Krishna spent some time

traveling together in the countryside,

enjoying mountain scenery and woods,

swimming in cool lakes and bracing streams,

seeing holy places. They visited

Indraprastha, passing happy hours

in repose and reminiscence, soul mates

delighting in each other’s company.

Their talk returned often to the war.

The loss of Abhimanyu was a sorrow

Arjuna bore always, an aching wound.

“Krishna,” said Arjuna, “on the brink of war

you revealed to me your celestial form

and showed me many truths. Unfortunately

my memory is poor—I have forgotten

what you said then. Please teach me again.”

Krishna said, “I am disappointed in you.

If you had understood what I taught you,

when I had entered an exalted state,

you would have retained it. As it is,

I cannot now repeat to you in detail

that most sacred teaching, which concerned

yoga and the spiritual path.

But I will recount to you the story

of a profound discussion I once had

with a brahmin who came from the heavenly realms

to visit us at Dvaraka. I asked him

to speak to us about enlightenment.

I shall give you the essence of what he said:

“
W
E COME
into the world carrying the fruits of our deeds in former lives, whether good or bad. This is a world of action, and as we act we exhaust our previous deeds and accumulate the fruits of new ones—which in turn accompany us into our next rebirth. Through living virtuously, we spend some time in heaven and eventually enter a more fortunate rebirth than before. But virtuous action alone cannot permanently release us from the cycle of death and rebirth. Only yoga, spiritual discipline, can do that.

“To obtain release, one must practice concentration and meditation, freeing oneself of all passions, all preferences, all sense of ‘I.’ Through these practices, even women, and even the lowborn, can achieve freedom.”

Then Krishna told the story of the exchange

between an enlightened brahmin and his wife:

“‘
H
USBAND,
’ said the brahmin’s wife, ‘I notice that you no longer perform sacrifices to sustain the gods. Since a woman takes on the merits and demerits of her husband, what chance is there that I shall attain the heavenly realms if you are not following brahmin dharma?’ Her husband replied, ‘I am engaged in an internal sacrifice, the sacrifice of yoga, in which craving and sensual indulgence are symbolically committed to the flames. I have no need of empty rituals.’

“The brahmin told his wife how the various creatures of the earth had once approached Brahma, lord of created beings, to be taught. Brahma pronounced to all of them the sacred syllable ‘Om,’ and when the creatures went back to their homes they interpreted the sound in their own ways, according to their natures. The snakes understood it as an injunction to bite, the demons to practice deceit, the gods to be generous, and the seers to control their senses.

“‘As a creature acts,’ said the brahmin, ‘so it becomes. I have undergone every human experience. I have been caught up in lust and anger, and my sins have led to many miserable births. I have sucked at many breasts. I have been both blessed and cursed. I have been wounded and humiliated. I have been afflicted by disease. I have acquired great wealth and lost it all. At last, in great distress, I turned my back on the world of joy and sorrow and took refuge in the formless Infinite. Through austerity and meditation, I have followed the path to ultimate liberation. I shall suffer no more rebirths.

“‘Wife, you need have no anxiety. As I move through the world, I am part of everything that is, and it is part of me. I am everywhere, creator and destroyer. Through your devotion to me, you will come to me in the world hereafter.’

“‘I can hardly grasp what you are telling me,’ said the wife. ‘I am in need of further explanation.’ The brahmin gave her further teachings, speaking to her about the nature of Brahman, the supreme Self, and she herself became enlightened.

“Arjuna,” said Krishna, “understand

that in this parable I am the teacher,

the mind is my pupil, the brahmin’s wife,

and I am the Soul pervading all that is.

It has been taught that life is like a wheel

which only the wise can truly understand.

Non-harming, serene, free from all attachment,

such a person reaches a state of mind

beyond self, and beyond all suffering.

Remember my words, Arjuna. Follow them,

and you will reach moksha, perfect freedom.”