THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (31 page)

FIFTY-FOUR A DESOLATE GIFT
 

Messengers rode before the Pandavas to Hastinapura; and when they arrived, the city was waiting for them, agog! The people had labored for three days to deck the city of elephants out for her princes’ homecoming. The street-corners were adorned with festive arches; garlands of every bloom of the season hung everywhere in a riot of colors. The streets had been swept and washed, sprinkled all along the princes’ way with scented water and strewn with rose petals. Incense hung in the air.

The people had turned out in crowds. They thronged the city-gates where they had seen the Pandavas off to Varanasi and the sky resounded with their joy. They had hardly slept all night, but sat around fires they lit to keep warm.

Came dawn, full of bird-song: a crystal morning. An hour before noon, a shout swelled from the crowd beyond the gates and those who stood high on the battlements, a cry that was taken up from the city-limits to the doors of the king’s palace.

“The Pandavas are here!”

Trumpets and conches blared and a roll of drums crackled like spring thunder on the ramparts and down in the streets. The people joined in with firecrackers, five-, ten-and a hundred-thousand of them strung together and heady songs and frenzied dance. Fate had not betrayed them, after all: their princes of light had returned from the dead to fulfil their destiny.

A wave of clapping and cheering arose when the Pandavas rode into view, with Krishna and Vidura, Kunti and Draupadi; a wave that broke into the subtle vaults of the sky.

“Yudhishtira will sit on the throne of Hastinapura!”

“He will rule us like his own children.”

“Pandu has come back from the dead, to rule as his son.”

A sea of hands reaching out in love to touch them, as the five kshatriyas alighted from their chariots and walked through the triumphal archway over the gates. Taking the dust of the road, the princes marked their foreheads with it as if with holy ash. The crowd surged around them, shouting all their names, Vidura’s and Kunti’s; and Krishna’s, as well, when they knew who he was. Most of all, they cried out the name of the princess Draupadi. They cried that they would have her climb down from her palanquin and see the face of their future queen.

Vidura tried to quieten them and Bheema began to glower at those who shouted loudest. Then, she stepped out of her covered litter and at once all the noise subsided. A sigh went up from the crowd; never had they seen anything to remotely rival her dark beauty. The old people in the crowd came forward and blessed her. They said that, surely, she was lovely enough to be their princes’ wife!

“Let the Pandavas and their queen be with us for a hundred years!” cried someone and a roar went up from the rest.

Two of Dhritarashtra’s milder sons, Vikarna and Chitrasena and Drona and Kripa met the Panda-vas at the gates. The princes embraced their cousins formally; perhaps curious if these two had conspired to burn the lacquer palace. They turned to their gurus and prostrated themselves at their feet. Drona and Kripa had tears in their eyes.

In a royal train, with the people of Hastinapura beside themselves on both sides of the road, Pandu’s sons were led to their uncle’s palace. Dhritarashtra stood at the towering main door, with Bheeshma at his side. The princes touched their feet: Bheeshma their grandsire’s with devotion and the king’s, wondering what went on in his heart. Krishna stood by quietly, with a ready smile for anyone who greeted him.

Duryodhana’s wife, a princess of Kasi once, came out to receive Kunti and Draupadi. She had with her the wives of some of the other Kauravas and they all touched Kunti’s feet, then, led both the women in to Gandhari’s palace next to the king’s. Tall, very regal, her eyes bound with dark silk, Gandhari was waiting to meet them. She rose and reached out graceful arms to find them. She embraced Kunti and when Draupadi knelt at her feet, she raised up the young bride by her delicate shoulders and embraced her as well.

Gandhari, the bhakta, had the gift of prescience since she had bound her eyes. The queen shivered when she clasped Draupadi to her, as if a cold fire licked her heart. As clearly as if it had already happened, she knew: ‘This woman will be the death of my sons.’

Gandhari blessed Kunti and Draupadi and gave instructions for them to be taken to Pandu’s old palace where they would stay.

The Pandavas came into their father’s house to rest after their journey from Kampilya. When he was alone with his cousins, Krishna said, “I will wager anything the blind king will not give you a fair inheritance. His words are warm, but his heart is cold.”

After the noon meal, Dhritarashtra summoned another council in his court. Krishna went with his cousins to this sabha. Once more, the Kuru elders were all present. Bheeshma, Drona, Vidura and Kripa were there, as well as the others that were influential in the kingdom and Duryodhana, his brothers and Karna. When the Pandavas had been welcomed ceremonially, the king began what he had to say.

“Yudhishtira, the Kuru kingdom is what it is today only because of your father’s campaigns.” A murmur of approval rose from the sabha. “We hear to our sorrow that there is some dissension between yourself and our own son, the yuvaraja Duryodhana. Everyone here knows what anguish this causes me. But I have decided to make a clean end to it.”

He paused, then sighed, “It seems this ancient kingdom must be divided. So be it, for we shall be just. Yudhishtira, I hereby give you half the Kuru kingdom to rule. Duryodhana will have to wait for his inheritance, since I am still king in Hastinapura. From now on, all the lands of Khandavaprastha, which of old was the capital of the Kurus, Pururavas, Nahusha and Yayati’s capital, shall be yours. Restore it and rule from there. Not a foot of land more or less shall there be between your kingdom and the one that remains with me. I hope this satisfies you. Tell me what you feel, you and your cousin Krishna.”

Dhritarashtra turned his face to where the Pandavas sat. Krishna glanced at his cousins and a sardonic smile lit his dark face. He said nothing yet. None of the Kuru elders, all of whom obviously supported Dhritarashtra’s plan, dared look at Krishna: not Bheeshma or Drona. Only Vidura did.

Yudhishtira rose from his place and crossed to the king on his throne. Taking his uncle’s hand, he said, “I have always done your bidding. I see no reason to change that now. We will go gladly to Khandavaprastha.”

A smile dawned on Dhritarashtra’s face also. “Vidura, my brother, let no time be lost. Ah, I am a happy man today that I will see my Pandu’s son become a king. A heavy burden has been lifted from my heart, let the city prepare for the coronation!”

Still avoiding Krishna’s mocking eyes, Bheeshma and Drona said, “Let it be so.”

Yudhishtira turned to Krishna. “Krishna won’t you say something?”

Dryly, Krishna said, “We understand your eagerness, my lord Dhritarashtra, better than you think perhaps. We are all keen to see Yudhishtira become a king. So let no time be lost.”

Just then, the kshatriyas at the back of the sabha rose, for a revered figure had entered. Vyasa was among them once more. He strode in, crying, “I have come to name an auspicious day on which my grandson may be crowned!”

On the day Vyasa chose, Yudhishtira was crowned with deep and solemn ceremony. As he stood dripping with the waters of the abhisheka, Bheeshma and Drona, Kripa, Dhaumya, Vyasa and Krishna blessed the new king.

“May you conquer the earth!”

“With the Rajasuya and Aswamedha!”

“May your life be a long and glorious one!”

“Rule the kingdom as wisely as your fathers!”

“May your fame spread through the world like the scent of flowers on the wind!”

There were such celebrations in the streets of Hastina; the feasting and drinking began while the sun was at his zenith and went on until dawn, with singing and dancing by torchlight in the festive night. Only Duryodhana seethed and those loyal to him—his brothers, Shakuni, Karna and some others. Perhaps, it was to pacify his son that Dhritarashtra called Yudhishtira to him the day after the coronation.

Embracing his nephew in cold arms, the king said, “You are now the lord of Khandavaprastha. Go to your kingdom and restore the old city. Begin your rule, O king. Bless you, my son, may your life be a long and joyful one.”

Yudhishtira knew that he was being sent away quickly for fear that the people may demand he rule from Hastinapura. Already, there had been some shouting to that effect after the coronation. He also knew that Khandava was a desolation ever since the rishis of the once lush jungle there had cursed Budha’s mercurial son Pururavas. Nothing grew in Khandava except thorns. No birds or beasts lived in that wasteland; it was as arid as a tract of hell.

However, for just one reason Yudhishtira was hopeful: Krishna was with him. Each day in the Dark One’s company was a miracle. The Pandava felt certain there was nothing his cousin could not do if he chose. Yudhishtira would have gone anywhere at all, if Krishna went with him. He would have gone to the ends of the earth and beyond. He believed there was no place in swarga, bhumi or patala, of which his blue cousin was not the master.

Besides, Yudhishtira was most of all a man of peace. He would avoid a confrontation as long as he possibly could. He knew that staying on in Hastinapura would eventually lead to a conflict with the Kauravas. He was not afraid; but he hated the thought of bloodshed and would prevent it at any cost. He knew he was, in fact, being banished into a desert. He preferred that to war with the sons of Dhritarashtra.

Taking leave of their friends in the city of Hastinapura, taking leave of their elders and their gurus, of their cousins and their uncle the king, the Pandavas set out for Khandavaprastha, with Kunti and Draupadi, Krishna and Balarama. Droves of the common people came to the gates of Hastinapura, with all their possessions packed and ready to go off into the wilderness with the princes they adored.

Yudhishtira said to them, “My friends, it is a wild and uncertain land to which we are going. Let us first establish ourselves there and we will send for you. Meanwhile, live in peace in your homes.”

There were those who wouldn’t listen to him and these, some hundred families, set out with the Pandavas, preferring the desolation they had heard about by now to the false comfort of Dhritarashtra’s city. Their hardy leader cried to Yudhishtira, “You are our king now and we will go with you. We will come back to Hastinapura only when you return to rule from here as you should.”

Fortunately, not everyone was as adventurous. Otherwise, most of Hastinapura would have emptied itself to follow the Pandavas into the wilderness. As it is, most of the people remained behind, swearing they would go to Khandavaprastha the day they had news that it was at all habitable.

FIFTY-FIVE MIRACLE IN THE WILDERNESS
 

When they had ridden two days, they reached the end of greenness in the world and saw a wasteland before them that stretched to the horizon and beyond. They knew they had arrived at the frontiers of Yudhishtira’s kingdom. Certainly, in extent, the land of Khandavaprastha was equal to the rest of the Kuru lands. Looking at that desert, Yudhishtira wished it much smaller: so there would be less of it to Salvage from the curse of old.

The Pandavas and the brave people who had come with them stood silenced at the edge of that waste.

Only Krishna smiled. “I fear it is even worse than we expected from your loving uncle.” He sighed and said irreverently, “And to think that old man Bheeshma sanctions this and your guru Drona and all the other cowards except Vidura. Ah, death is not far from them and they rush into its arms.”

He saw how near tears his cousins were. He said, “Dhritarashtra is like the fool who admired the beauty of the streak of lightning, until it fell on him. He forgets he will reap the harvest of the evil he sows.” Krishna took Yudhishtira’s hand. “But not you, gentle cousin. Why should you reap the bitterness your uncle has sown? Come, let us enter your vast kingdom; for vast at least it certainly is.” He lowered his voice to whisper to Yudhishtira, “And we shall see what we can make of this desolation, to frustrate the blind one in Hastinapura.”

Yudhishtira looked sharply at him, but Krishna had already ridden ahead into the wilderness. Yudhishtira rode after him and the others followed, numbly, wondering what the Avatara could do with such monstrous barrenness, where only the rishis’ curse thrived.

On they rode, deeper into that dead land. As dusk fell around them, Krishna stopped his chariot and gave a shout.

“Look! The ruins of Khandavaprastha.”

Fallen walls in the growing dimness, among which only lizards scuttled and snakes had nests; battlements and turrets, palaces, once eminent surely, but now tangled with thorny plants that survive in desert’s hearts; deep moats and pools, which must have once been full of clear water, lotuses and birds, now full of dust and sand; streets where only the wind ventured; flanking those streets tumbledown mansions in which not even ghosts lived: these were the ruins of a magnificent city, the capital of Yudhishtira’s ancestors.

His noble face alive with determination, Yudhishtira said to Krishna, “I am glad my uncle gave me this ruined land for my kingdom. At least, now we have a challenge before us. I am grateful for a destiny that tests us.”

Krishna smiled at him like the sun. “The time of the rishis’ curse is finished! Because your heart has been moved by this place. You did not know it, but it was foretold that life and prosperity would return to Khandavaprastha when a Kuru king yearned to heal the cursed land.”

The sun was setting and they had journeyed long and hard. They were exhausted and the task ahead seemed formidable, even impossible. Krishna advised, “Let us eat now and sleep. We are tired and easy prey for despair.”

They lit fires and the cooks prepared a meal. When wine had been drunk copiously and the people and their princes had eaten, when the last firelight song had been sung, they fell asleep among the ruins of Khandavaprastha, some in their chariots, others on makeshift beds on the bare streets, under great stars hanging in a moonless sky.

At midnight, only Krishna was awake, touched by starlight, caressed by a breeze that had sprung up suddenly. He rose softly and stood among his sleeping cousins and their people who were devoted enough to follow them into this lost land. He made a secret mudra over the sleepers. At once, they were plunged in dreams like paradise. They would not awaken until he wanted them to.

The Avatara stood alone in the main street of the cursed city, as if at a crossroads of heaven and earth. He raised his arms skywards, until they were full of stars and his body began to shine, brighter and brighter, until it was incandescent. Krishna turned his face to the sky and called in a tongue older than the suns that burned there, “Indra, I summon you!”

Silence. Nothing stirred for a moment, not the breeze and it seemed even the stars did not pulse any more but froze at his words. Then, the firmament took light. Even as if there had always been great light there, but hidden; as if Krishna’s words pulled back a veil from across heaven’s blinding face.

A being whose body was made of unearthly luster flashed down from the sea of splendor that was the revealed sky. He stood in the forlorn street of Khandavaprastha, where her princes slept, unaware of the miracle about to unfold around them. Indra, king of the Devas, stood before Krishna; and of the two, Krishna was the more lustrous.

Indra said, “Lord, how can I serve you?”

“Dhritarashtra has been generous enough to bestow this cursed land on Yudhishtira. You see the young king and his brothers asleep among their people. When they wake in the morning, let the curse have ended. Bless this land, make it fruitful.” Krishna paused, “Let Khandavaprastha be named Indraprastha after you, O Deva: for you must raise this city again, in greater glory than it ever knew in the past.”

Indra said, “The time of desolation is over. It was foretold that when you came to the city and called me here, the curse would end and Khandavaprastha would live again. Look, here comes Viswakarman.”

Another luminous figure appeared beside Indra, out of the very air. With folded hands, Viswakarman, the divine artisan, stood before Krishna. “Command me, Lord.”

Krishna said, “Fashioner of continents, the time of the curse has ended. Raise Indraprastha from Khandavaprastha’s ruins and let these lands be second only to Indra’s own.”

Viswakarman grew into a mist of light. He spread his ethereal body across the ruined country. Like time’s ragged shroud, the curse lifted away from Khandavaprastha and a city of wonder emerged around Krishna and Indra, with glimmering towers, towering battlements, imposing mansions and resplendent palaces. The mantle of dust vanished from the city and fine new streets, paved with crushed jewels, appeared under the stars.

There were ample parks in Indraprastha, full of green plants and herds of gentle deer. At Viswakarman’s touch, the dry pools were all full of clear water, on which the stars were reflected between white lotuses, vermilion and violet ones and flocks of water birds that slept with their heads tucked under their wings. Scented orchards and gardens flanked those streets. A deep moat, also full of the clearest water, ringed the impregnable outer walls. Those walls were like Garuda’s wings, outspread.

A breeze of healing and renewal arose around Indraprastha and all the thorns and the creatures of the desert were redeemed in it and blown away, out of the earth. In their place, across the arid wastes, dense green forests sprang up, with hills, wooded valleys and rivers gushing through them. All sorts of wild creatures lived under the trees and drank from charmed pools of sweet water, covered with pale and dark lotuses, some as dusky as Krishna. The arms of the trees were heavy with nesting birds of every feather.

When he had done, in a brief hour, what Krishna had asked him to, Viswakarman came to the Avatara again. “Khandavaprastha is restored and it is greater than it ever was. Krishna, its coffers are full.”

Krishna raised his hands in blessing over the two immortals and bowing to him, they vanished. The stars shone down on a fabulous city and her princes asleep, strangely, in the open street.

Dawn came stealing over the horizon, over verdant hills that encircled the city of wonder. With first light, every bird in the trees of Indraprastha and the forests around it burst into song. The Panda-vas, Kunti and Draupadi awoke and the brave folk who had come with them. They thought their dreams had come true!

The desert had vanished, the waste of thorns and ruins where they had lain down sadly to sleep last night. They found themselves in the streets of a city which was surely not of this earth. Lush trees, lotus-pools and fine mansions were all around them; the streets glittered with jewel-dust. The birds sang in the trees as if it was the first day of creation: which, for them, it was.

As in a dream, the Pandavas and the others rose and began to walk along the dazzling streets. Yudhishtira whispered to his brothers, “Krishna has done this.”

Laughing like a boy, Bheema cried, “Or we have died and gone to heaven!”

There was no sign of Krishna, not until they wandered to the end of the highway on which they had been asleep. Rounding a corner, they saw a palace so glorious that they stopped still, to stare. On the highest of the crystal steps leading into it sat their cousin with a gleam in his eye. He rose when he saw them and, flinging out his arms, cried, “Welcome to the palace of the master of Indraprastha. Yudhishtira, king, welcome!”

Then they knew this was no dream and they ran up those steps and knelt before him. Laughing, he led them into that ineffable palace. Not Krishna himself could fault what Viswakarman had created: sweeping halls with unreachable ceilings, floors of polished stone that seemed like clear water, real pools laid in scintillating marble and innumerable passages, all leading to sprawling apartments.

When they came out, breathless, on to an open terrace, they saw that overnight the desert had bloomed as far as their eyes could see. Thick green forests stretched away forever on every side. Bheema’s delighted roar rang among the battlements, giving mighty voice to what his brothers and all the people felt.

Thus, Krishna raised a magical city and an emerald wilderness for the Pandavas, out of desolation. They had their first glimpse of his uncanny powers. The sons of Pandu and their queen began living in the palace and the people who had come with them naturally occupied the finest mansions, nearest it. For their courage and loyalty, Yudhishtira gave them lands and wealth past their dreams.

Vyasa appeared in Indraprastha out of the blue, as usual and Krishna asked him to perform the rituals of graha pravesha and to bless the city in the wilderness. When the Pandavas had begun to settle into their new domain, one morning Krishna went to meet Yudhishtira in his apartment, awash with golden sunshine. Krishna embraced the king and said, “The time has come for me to return to Dwaraka, there is so much I have to do there.”

“No!” cried Yudhishtira.

“I am always with you. If you need me, just think of me and I will come to you quick as a thought. But now I must go.”

Yudhishtira hung his head and nodded mutely. The others were forlorn to learn their cousin was leaving. They had begun to think of him as part of their lives, of themselves. They came with him to the city-gates. Krishna embraced them all and, cheerful as ever, cried, “Enjoy Indraprastha!”

Then he rode off without a backward glance.

Word of the miracle in the wilderness spread like fire. Soon, more people arrived from Hastinapura and, indeed, from all over Bharatavarsha, to see for themselves the wonder Indraprastha was said to be. Those who came invariably stayed on and became Yudhishtira’s subjects. They realized that nowhere else on earth was there such a blessed city or such a noble king.

Folk of every ilk and persuasion came to Indraprastha: learned brahmanas, industrious vaishyas, valiant kshatriyas and gifted sudras; and, with their diverse talents, they quickly made that city the cynosure of the world. In Hastinapura, Duryodhana simmered with envy. He blamed his father for what he saw as a terrible humiliation for himself. Instead of thorns and dust, the detested Pandavas enjoyed a city of marvels, to which the people of Hastinapura were flocking, abandoning Dhritarashtra’s capital in droves.

Karna, Duryodhana, his brothers and Shakuni all blamed the blind king and the elders for showing softness to the sons of Pandu, when they should have sent an army to crush them in Kampilya.