Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (84 page)

the child began to stir.

What thankfulness!

What joy sprang up! It was a great explosion

that burst from the women’s quarters into all

corners of the palace, and out, out

among the disbelieving citizens

of Hastinapura. Then, tumultuous joy

seized them like a fever, and all night long

with celebration, feasting and loud music,

the city was ablaze with noise and light.

Next day, Krishna announced the infant’s name:

Parikshit, born to save his failing line.

He would go on to rule for many years,

after the Pandavas had left the earth.

About a month after the baby’s birth

news came that the Pandavas were approaching,

bringing with them unimaginable

quantities of wealth. All the townsfolk,

of every station, crammed the thoroughfares

as the great caravan, groaning with gold,

trundled slowly toward the treasury.

Entering the city, the royal party

was greeted by cheering crowds. Their success,

and the horse sacrifice it made possible,

would bring blessings to the entire kingdom.

The birth of Parikshit changed everything.

Despite the victory of the Pandavas,

Ashvatthaman’s awful invocation

of the
Brahma
weapon had cast dragging doubt

on the future of the Bharatas, planting

a seed of hopelessness in every heart.

But now it seemed the dynasty was safe.

One of King Yudhishthira’s first acts

was to consult Vyasa. Touching his feet,

formally he sought the seer’s permission

to conduct the horse sacrifice. “Excellent!”

said Vyasa, “I myself will play a part

in the ceremony, according to your wishes.

This great sacrifice will absolve all sin.

See to it that you please the deities

by making abundant gifts.”

Yudhishthira

also sought consent from Krishna, who

rejoiced at the prospect of the great event.

“Let your brothers, too, be sacrificers,”

he said. Then Vyasa was asked to name

the best time for the ceremony which must

inaugurate the sacrificial process:

the initiation of the Dharma King.

He ordered that the ritual implements

and other objects should be made of gold.

Planning began for the great event.

A superb stallion would be selected

and then let loose to wander the land at will.

The horse would be protected by the army

led by a distinguished kshatriya,

and in whatever kingdom it might roam

that land would be claimed for King Yudhishthira.

Any ruler who put up resistance

would be subdued. Then he would be invited

to Hastinapura, as a welcome guest

at the splendid sacrifice, when the time came.

After a year, the horse would find its way

back to the kingdom of the Bharatas,

and then the great ceremony would be held.

On Vyasa’s advice, Yudhishthira

designated strong-armed Arjuna

to be protector of the horse, saying,

“As you progress, when hostile kings come out

to oppose you, and resist our rule,

try to avoid battles, and above all

avoid killing warriors whose kindred

met with death on the plain of Kurukshetra.

Be friendly. Invite them to the sacrifice.

Consecrate the sons of fallen heroes

—or daughters, if there are no surviving sons.”

A most beautiful piebald horse was chosen

and kept in readiness. From near and far,

guests arrived for the initiation

of King Yudhishthira, the first ritual step.

He was resplendent in red silk, with gold

accoutrements. Staff in hand, wearing

a soft black deerskin for his upper garment,

the king shone like a star in the firmament.

Priests performed the rites; then it was time

for the magnificent horse to be let loose.

As it began to wander on its way

from Hastinapura, an exuberant crowd

pressed and jostled to get sight of it,

shouting, “Farewell, Wealth-winner, return safely!”

and Arjuna, accompanied by priests,

soldiers and retainers, began his journey.

Through the months that followed, Arjuna,

riding a chariot drawn by fine white horses,

followed the stallion as it made its way

on a meandering route through many lands.

Despite his brother’s hopes, there were fierce fights.

Men who had lost most at Kurukshetra

were often just the ones who wanted battle,

thirsting for revenge. Thus it happened

that the horse crossed into Trigarta country,

the kingdom whose men had harried Arjuna

so tenaciously on the battlefield.

Now they came out in strength, intent on capture.

Mindful of the king’s request, the Pandava

tried to make peace. “Do not attack, you villains.

Life is precious, as you should know by now!”

The Trigartas took no notice, but let fly

a cloud of arrows which, flexing
Gandiva
,

Arjuna deflected in mid-flight.

Bitter conflict followed. Arjuna

was wounded in the hand by a young warrior

whose outstanding skill he much admired

and whom, for that reason, he refrained from killing.

Instead, he slew a host of his companions.

Eventually the rest threw down their weapons

and formally acknowledged Yudhishthira

as their ruler. Arjuna invited them

to be present at the horse sacrifice.

This was the shape of many more encounters.

The horse wandered up hills, into valleys,

across desert terrain. Sometimes the rulers

of these lands met Arjuna’s conditions,

sometimes they resisted. A great engagement

took place between Arjuna and the Sindhus.

Jayadratha (husband of Duhshala,

sole sister of the hundred Kauravas)

had been their king, and they were full of wrath

at the way Arjuna had slaughtered him.

They launched a blistering attack against

the sacrificial horse and its protector.

In the savage fighting, Arjuna

was badly wounded, and lost consciousness.

Celestial rishis revived him with their prayers,

and he fought on. Remembering Yudhishthira,

he called to his enemies, “We are intent

on your surrender rather than on slaughter.”

But, unpersuaded, the Sindhu forces hurled

their spears and arrow showers ever more fiercely.

They were losing ground when Duhshala,

their interim ruler, approached, carrying

her infant grandson in her arms. Weeping,

she told the Pandava the baby’s father,

Jayadratha’s son, had been in mourning

for his father when he heard that Arjuna

had arrived to subjugate the kingdom—

at which he died of grief and fear. She begged

her cousin to take pity on the baby,

and sued for peace, ordering her warriors

to lay down their weapons. Arjuna,

seeing that the Sindhus posed no threat,

embraced her warmly, and expressed the hope

that she would come to the horse sacrifice.

The horse came to the kingdom of Manipura

ruled by Arjuna’s son by Chitrangadaa,

Babhruvahana. The stalwart youth

rode out to meet Arjuna, carrying gifts,

loth to fight his father. But Arjuna,

thinking his son must be a feeble coward,

shouted at him, pricking him with insults.

“Are you a woman? I have come to fight,

not to chat with you. You’re a kshatriya,

so fight like one!” Then the young man’s stepmother,

Ulupi, daughter of the Naga king,

beautiful, sinuous, rose up through the ground

and urged her stepson to acquire merit

by fighting the world’s greatest warrior.

Reluctant though he was, Babhruvahana

called for his armor and his chariot,

having first captured the sacrificial horse.

He flew toward his father, and loosed a stream

of arrows, piercing him badly in the shoulder.

Arjuna was shocked, but gratified

by his son’s skill. A heroic fight followed,

son against father, a dazzling display

delighting both, one of those rare moments

when war is the best of games. It did not last.

Soon both warriors were severely wounded;

then the son, letting fly an iron arrow,

deeply pierced Arjuna through his breastplate,

shearing it off his body. Penetrated

through lungs and heart, Arjuna fell, lifeless.

Babhruvahana, too, fell to the ground

fainting from his wounds, and from the shock

of seeing his father killed—and he the killer!

News of the event reached Chitrangadaa.

Shocked, she ran to the scene lamenting loudly,

and seeing Ulupi there, she turned on her.

“How could you do this! How can you stand, dry-eyed,

when my son, whom you encouraged, has just killed

your husband and mine? Was it jealous spite?

You must know it is entirely proper

for men to marry more than a single wife.

Oh, revive him! I know you have the power.

I have released the sacrificial horse.

It is right for a son who kills his father

to die; but this great Bharata, this hero

on whom Yudhishthira utterly depends,

should not be lying here. O Ulupi,

if you do not bring him back to life

I shall end my own life before your eyes!”

Babhruvahana stirred. Seeing Arjuna

lying lifeless on the bloody ground,

he wished to die himself. What earthly penance

could expiate the sin of patricide?

Hopeless, he sat down to begin a fast

to death.

Ulupi summoned a powerful gem

frequently used by snakes to counter death.

“Son, you need not grieve. You have done no wrong.

Your father challenged you—and it was because

I knew that he had come wanting to test you

that I spurred you on. And I created

the illusion of his death. This mighty Arjuna

has divine origins—he cannot be killed

by ordinary mortals. To revive him,

place this gem on his breast.” The young man did so.

As if roused from a deep, refreshing sleep,

Arjuna opened his eyes and looked around.

He was surprised to see the women there.

Ulupi said, “Listen—I have acted

entirely for your good. A while ago

I heard a conversation. The Vasus

had gone to Ganga, goddess of the river,

mother of Bhishma, and complained to her

that you had killed their brother unrighteously,

shooting him under cover of Shikhandin.

For this, they proposed to place a curse on you.

Ganga consented. I was horrified

and hurried to my wise, compassionate father.

To protect you, he implored the Vasus

to offer a concession. They relented.

‘When Arjuna is struck down by his own son

our curse will end. He will have made amends.’”

Arjuna was profoundly grateful. His son

and Chitrangadaa were relieved. They asked him

to spend the night in their palace. Arjuna

declined. “This horse is wandering at will

and I must follow. It is not permitted

that I stop anywhere.” But he invited them

to Hastinapura for the sacrifice,

and they assured him that they would attend.

The sacrificial horse meandered on

over the earth, between one mighty ocean

and the other, from the palm-fringed shores

of the south to the sparkling Himalaya.

It moved among the ebony Dravidians,

among the green-eyed warriors of the north,

among the war-like and the peaceful peoples

of the Western Ghats.

Inevitably,

there were battles. The ruler of Magadha

rode against Arjuna with enthusiasm.

Very young, unskilled in weaponry,