Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (85 page)

he nonetheless aspired to heroism

as a kshatriya. At first, Arjuna

was easy on him, and the boy felt proud

of his achievements, and wounded Arjuna.

At that, Arjuna destroyed his bow,

killed his horses, smashed his other weapons

and called on him to surrender. The young man

was glad to do so, and happy to accept

the invitation to the horse sacrifice.

In the land of Chedi, Shishupala’s son

fought, and then conceded to Arjuna,

as did the rulers of many other kingdoms.

With some, the battles were mere token fights

for the sake of self-respect. But the nishadas,

led by the son of Ekalavya, fought

furiously before they were defeated.

So did the vengeful son of Shakuni,

king of the Gandharas, Arjuna’s cousin.

He seized the horse, then launched a fierce attack

and would not give up, even after dozens

of his soldiers, horses and charioteers

had been killed. Arjuna spared his life

because the two were kindred, and because

Shakuni’s wife came out to intervene

and had the sacrificial horse set free.

At last, the horse turned toward Hastinapura.

Yudhishthira’s sources of intelligence

brought him the news, and he was overjoyed

to know that he would soon see Arjuna.

Bhima consulted brahmins and engineers,

and supervised construction on a site

marked as auspicious for the sacrifice.

Roads were built, and ample living quarters

to accommodate the many thousands

of guests who were expected. Bhima sent

messengers near and far, in all directions,

to tell royal guests when to arrive.

In the days preceding the sacrifice,

people started to assemble. They brought gifts—

jewels, horses, weapons, female slaves.

When they looked around, they were amazed.

Everywhere they turned was luxury;

every object their eyes fell upon

seemed to be made of gold. Some remembered

the rajasuya rite at Indraprastha;

this was even more magnificent.

Krishna arrived with his relatives,

gorgeously adorned, and he brought news

of Arjuna, and of his many battles.

“Why is it, Krishna,” sighed Yudhishthira,

“that Arjuna is so unfortunate?

Through what fault of his has he undergone

so many tribulations for my sake?”

“I see no reason,” Krishna said, “except—

perhaps his cheekbones are too prominent.”

Draupadi frowned. She could not tolerate

the slightest criticism of Arjuna

even as a joke.

For the great event,

Bhima had thought of everything, providing

food on an enormous scale. Thousands

of brahmins, and a comparable number

of vaishyas, were fed in relays. Vats of rice,

tanks of curd, many delicious dishes

and expensive sweets were served by attendants.

A messenger arrived from Arjuna—

within two days, he would be there in person!

The city buzzed with anticipation

and at last, after his long journey,

the Wealth-winner, lean and battle-scarred,

walked into the city, the horse beside him.

After greeting his loving family

he went to bathe and restore his energy,

sleeping like a man thrown onto shore

as sole survivor of a storm-tossed voyage.

Meanwhile Chitrangadaa and Ulupi

had arrived with Babhruvahana,

and were warmly welcomed, for Arjuna’s sake,

by Kunti, Draupadi and Subhadra.

Beautiful and rare gifts were exchanged.

Three days later, Vyasa told the king,

“The signs are favorable; the constellations

have been scanned by the astrologers.

The time is right to start the sacrifice.

Distribute at least three times as much gold

as is customary. In that way

you will earn great merit, and any sorrow

remaining from the Kurukshetra war

should finally be lifted from your shoulders.”

Huge crowds of the king’s subjects, from the city

and all around, had gathered. All was ready.

Stakes had been erected made of wood

of diverse kinds, as detailed in the scriptures,

but decked with gold for the beauty of it,

and adorned with rich and lovely flags.

Gold bricks were brought to build a fire altar

four tiers high, shaped like Garuda.

Three hundred sacrificial birds and beasts

were bound to the stakes on the sacred ground.

Many distinguished seers thronged the enclosure.

The rites, conducted by the most learned priests

guided by the Vedas, took several days.

Soma was pressed and drunk, and in between

the ceremonies, dancing and sweet music

were performed by accomplished gandharvas.

Birds and animals were killed and cooked,

each dedicated to a specific god.

The sacrificial horse was brought, then stifled.

As chief queen, Draupadi lay beside it.

Then it was dismembered, and its entrails

were roasted on the fire. The rising smoke—

that smoke capable of cleansing sin—

was eagerly inhaled by the Pandavas,

to the great joy of Yudhishthira.

When the sacrifice was over, it remained

for the Dharma King to distribute riches.

Now he was ruler of the earth, he offered

that earth to Vyasa, as the chief priest.

Vyasa returned it, asking for its equivalent

in wealth, which Yudhishthira duly gave.

This was divided among brahmins. Giving

was expiation for Yudhishthira.

The brahmins shared the artifacts between them:

gold bricks from the altar, the stakes, the arches.

Yudhishthira then, in order of precedence,

loaded his guests with gold, jewels, treasure.

Vyasa gave his share of wealth to Kunti,

for her to use in charitable acts.

Just when everything seemed to be over,

and all involved were greatly satisfied,

a large, blue-eyed mongoose approached the priests,

one side of its body shining gold.

In a booming voice, it said, “This sacrifice,

grand as it was, was not nearly the equal

of the coarse barley given by the brahmin

of Kurukshetra.” The priests were astounded

and quite indignant. Speaking all at once,

they enumerated all the rituals,

all the procedures, scrupulously observed,

the gifts distributed, the benefits . . .

How could this sacrifice possibly have been

bettered? “Let me tell you,” said the mongoose.

“
I
N
K
URUKSHETRA
, there lived a devout brahmin, committed to a gleaning lifestyle. He subsisted on the grains of barley he gathered from the ground, after the harvest had been gathered in. He lived with his wife, son and daughter-in-law, and their existence was a happy, if frugal one.

“It happened that famine came to the land. The small store of grain the family had put by dwindled, and then was almost gone. They suffered. Day after day they went hungry as the brahmin found almost nothing to glean from the fields. One day, he managed to gather enough barley to make a small meal for the four of them. They ground the barley and made a porridge from it; then they sat down to eat. At that moment, an unexpected guest presented himself at their door. They greeted him warmly, and invited him to sit down with them.

“The guest was obviously hungry, and the brahmin gave him his own share of the barley porridge. The guest ate it, and still looked hungry. ‘Let him have my share,’ the wife whispered to her husband. But the brahmin was unhappy with this suggestion, knowing that his wife was reduced to mere skin and bone, and faint from hunger. ‘My duty is to sustain you to the best of my ability,’ he said. ‘I cannot bear to see you giving up your meal.’ ‘But I have joined my life to yours,’ she answered. ‘You have given me all you have—and you have given me our beloved son. In return for so many favors, let me give you my share of porridge and you can give it to our guest.’ So another portion of porridge was set before the guest. But his appetite was still not satisfied.

“‘Father,’ said the son, ‘please give our guest my portion.’ The brahmin was reluctant to accept. ‘I brought you into this world; it is only right that I look after you to the best of my ability.’ ‘As your son, I am part of you,’ said the young man, ‘and I should serve you in whatever way I can. I know that you will suffer greatly if you cannot perform your duty as a host. Please take my share.’ So the brahmin accepted, and gave the porridge to the guest. He ate it, and was still hungry.

“Seeing this, the brahmin became sad and thoughtful. Then his daughter-in-law said, ‘Father, take my share. Through your son—and therefore through you—I shall obtain a son. Thanks to you I shall know great happiness. Please take my porridge and give it to our guest.’ The brahmin, seeing the girl wasted and weak, was very unhappy at this suggestion. But she persuaded him that, by accepting, he would be enabling her to obtain great merit. So he took her meal and gave it to the guest.

“The guest then revealed himself to them as Dharma, the god of righteousness. ‘I am delighted with you,’ he said, ‘and so are the deities in heaven. With a pure heart, you have given me everything you have. Such a gift is worth far more than many a lavish consecration ceremony and horse sacrifice, because it is your entire wealth, and is offered without reserve. Your hard life on this earth is over. By your kindness to me today, you are assured of heaven.’ Then flowers rained down from the sky, and the brahmin family ascended into heaven.

“All this,” said the mongoose, “I witnessed from my hole in the ground. When the family had gone to heaven, I came out; and what with the flowers, and the water the guest had been given to wash his holy feet, and what with the scraps of barley, and the scent of sanctity, my head and half my body turned to gold. Ever since, I have been attending hermitages, pilgrimages, and sacrifices, in the hope of finding an example of devotion to match that of the brahmin family. In that way, the rest of my body could be changed to gold. That is why I came to this horse sacrifice, having heard of King Yudhishthira’s devotion to dharma. But I have been disappointed.”

Having spoken, the mongoose disappeared

and the brahmins, astonished and impressed,

made their way in silence to their homes.

On hearing this story, King Janamejaya

was perplexed. “It is well known,” he said

to Vaishampayana, “that sacrifices,

properly performed by learned priests,

bring great benefits. Why, then, did that mongoose

treat Yudhishthira’s great horse sacrifice

with such contempt?”

“Millions of ascetics,”

replied Vaishampayana, “have attained

heaven through practicing renunciation,

self-control, compassion and truthfulness,