THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (35 page)

SIXTY-TWO CURE FOR AN ILLNESS
 

The women of the palace in Dwaraka were anxious about Subhadra. No one dreamt what the real cause of her sickness was. Krishna’s mother Devaki was the most worried. For ten days Subhadra hardly ate, nor spoke a word to anyone, but lay in her bed staring glassily out of the window, or at a burning taper at nights.

One day, Devaki called Krishna and Balarama.

“I am at my wits’ end about Subhadra. None of the physicians knows what the matter with her is. Oh, Krishna, what shall we do?”

She began to sob. Krishna took her hand, “Mother, let us go to Sankhodara and spend a fortnight praying to Lord Siva. Someone has cursed us and the curse has fallen on Subhadra. I am sure a Rudra puja will see her well again.”

Devaki agreed. Balarama went off to arrange for the trip and tell the boatmen of Dwaraka to be ready. Krishna went to see Subhadra. He sent her women out of the sickroom and, taking her hand, whispered, “We are going to Sankhodara to perform a Rudra puja for you. We shall be gone a fortnight. The twelfth day from today is an auspicious day, my sweet sister: for you to marry the man you love!”

She gasped. Krishna stroked her cheek. “There is no other cure for love, my child. You must go with your heart; and don’t be afraid, he loves you as well.”

Kissing her gently, he left her. Krishna went out into Subhadra’s garden where the yati sat with his eyes shut, seeing only the face that haunted him. He, too, had hardly slept since he confessed his love to her, ten days ago. She had never come back to see him since and he did not dare ask for her. He knew she was unwell and no one had discovered what her sickness was. Arjuna was worried; where was Krishna when he needed him most? It seemed the Blue One had left him to his own devices, to suffer.

Thus, when Krishna appeared beside him that day, the yati began to babble his woes to his cousin. Krishna laid a hand on his shoulder to quieten him, as he might with an excited child. Sitting beside the yati on the clipped grass, he said, “There is to be a puja on the island of Sankhodara. We shall all be gone for a fortnight.”

He saw the alarm in Arjuna’s eyes and continued, “Only my sister Subhadra will remain behind in Dwaraka. She isn’t well enough to travel.”

He paused and the yati clutched his arm. Krishna was smiling now, in his teasing way. “I am told by my brahmanas that the twelfth day from today is very auspicious. They said to me it is particularly suited for a gandharva vivaha.”

It took a moment for what he said to sink in. The yati’s eyes shone. Krishna went on, “I’ll leave my own chariot for you. Carry her away, Arjuna! It’s something a kshatriya may do without dishonor. Besides, at least one of the bride’s brothers approves.

I mustn’t stay too long now, or I will be of no use to you later, when the Yadavas want to take arms against you for kidnapping our sister. I fear my brother Balarama will be the most incensed of all, that yet again that lofty intelligence of his has led him straight into trouble.”

Laughing at the thought and hugging Arjuna, Krishna left. The next day, Balarama came to the yati and prostrated himself at his feet. “We are leaving for Sankhodara today to perform a puja to Rudra. Bless us, Swami.”

The yati laid his palm on Balarama’s head and if that hand shook slightly, it was from an urge to burst out laughing. Balarama said, “Have a care for my sister while we are away, O Yati. As long as you are here, I am not afraid to leave her behind.”

The yati said gravely, “I pray for her at every sandhya. My prayers have never gone unanswered yet.”

“I thank you, Swami! It is our good fortune that you came to us, or I dare not think what would have happened to my sister. I am certain your presence has already prevented the worst.”

“The curse upon her is powerful, it drains even my strength. It is best you go to Sankhodara quickly and petition Lord Rudra. I am sure your sister will have recovered when you return.”

Balarama bowed again and left the presence without turning his back on the yati.

Thus, the yati and the princess he loved were more or less alone in Dwaraka. For ten days after the Yadavas’ departure, they saw nothing of each other. But at midnight of the eleventh, Subhadra heard a furtive scraping at her window. She leapt out of bed, stepped over a maid sleeping on the floor and was at the window in a trice.

She caught her breath when she saw the yati’s face framed in the moonlight. He smiled so tenderly at her that her malaise left her just to see him. When he reached for it, she gave him her hand. His eyes were so full of concern she was relieved: for, every other time, she had seen only desire in them.

Gently he said, “Oh, my love, you shouldn’t torment yourself like this. I have always loved you, since I was a boy.”

Finding courage now, she replied shyly, “And I have loved you, Arjuna, since I can remember.”

He kissed her hand fervently. “It is time for the guard to change and we mustn’t risk being caught tonight. Bring a chariot to the garden gate tomorrow and we will never be apart again. I am told you are as much of a rathika as I am. You take the reins so I have my hands free for the bow Krishna left me.”

He saw her eyes glistened with tears. She bit her lip and nodded bravely. “An hour before noon, I will be there.”

Impulsively, she raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. Then she vanished back into the room. Slowly, he went back to the moon-drenched garden, but he knew he would not sleep.

Subhadra did not sleep much either; but her sickness was gone, as if the yati’s touch had cured her. She lay awake, the wonder of her love kindled. She did not try to resist it, but allowed it to fill her body like a new life. Subhadra was not frightened or ill any more: she was a woman who knew what she wanted. She could not wait for the sun to rise and Arjuna to carry her away. It took all her restraint not to go out to him in the garden at once.

The sun rose, at last, after a long night for the lovers. To the delight of the women of the palace, the princess Subhadra seemed to have recovered from her sickness. She was up at dawn. She bathed, dressed in fresh clothes and wore flowers in her hair. Once more, she took his morning meal out to the yati and spent some time alone with him. The women said among themselves that it was surely a miracle: the puja at Sankhodara had worked.

An hour before noon, Subhadra announced her intention to go for a drive around the ocean-city. Her sakhis told her Krishna had left his horses and chariot for her.

“Which horses?” asked Subhadra, who knew all of them by name.

“Saibya, Sugriva, Valahaka and Meghapushpa.”

The princess smiled; her brother had left his favorite steeds for her. She said, “Have them yoked and the chariot brought to the garden gate. I must tell the yati I am going out.”

Meanwhile, in the room at the bottom of the garden, a transformation not far short of the supernatural had come over the yati. He stood in front of a silver mirror, inspecting how he looked on the day of his wild wedding, his gandharva vivaha. The matted jata was shorn, the beard shaved. The unkempt appearance had vanished and the saffron robes been discarded. Wearing the prince’s silks given him by Krishna, dashing Arjuna of Indraprastha stared back at him from the polished silver.

His face was older than it had been when he last saw it beardless. Otherwise, it was him all right: Kunti’s son Arjuna, the Pandava. Satisfied, he turned away from the mirror. He lit a lamp in the corner of that room and, kneeling before it, laid his brow on the floor in worship. Then he heard the clatter of horses’ hooves on the road outside and Subhadra calling, “Come Yati, I am ready for you!”

Arjuna emerged and Subhadra’s women’s mouths fell open when they saw a glorious kshatriya striding from the room into which the disheveled hermit had gone. One of them breathed, “It’s Arjuna!”

They bowed to him, giggling, because they knew what had happened. He went calmly to the street and climbed into the chariot beside Subhadra. With a cry, she cracked her whip and the fine horses flashed forward, making straight for the gates of Dwaraka. The drawbridge lay across the waves and in moments, the lovers were out of the ocean-city, on the mainland and flying north toward Indraprastha.

SIXTY-THREE BALARAMA’S ANGER
 

The guards at Dwaraka’s gates saw the chariot flit past them. Thinking the princess was being abducted by the dashing kshatriya, they tried to stop the ratha; but they did not give chase because the kshatriya looked dangerous. Then, again, he could not be abducting the princess: she held the horses’ reins and whipped them to go faster. No doubt, they would return by evening.

Evening came and there was no sign of Subhadra or the prince. Word spread through Dwaraka that the yati Balarama had brought into Subhadra’s garden was Arjuna and the Pandava had eloped with the princess. They said he had taken her for his wife in gandharva vivaha, which was rare, but acceptable.

A small company of soldiers was dispatched to Sankhodara. They rode a way up the mainland and blew on conches and horns. On the island, the Yadavas heard these and, winding up their puja since the alarm they heard was for extreme danger, rowed back immediately to Dwaraka.

At the city-gates, a nervous guard commander broke the news stammeringly to Balarama. Balarama’s roar shook the walls of the ocean-city; it made the guardsmen turn pale. The great Vrishni turned on his brother. Balarama was shaking. He knew he had been made a fool of and he knew who had made a fool of him.

“Krishna!” he roared. “You did this!”

The Blue One was prepared for the attack: he looked aghast at the accusation. “I did this? Who warned you about the yati on Raivataka? Who said it would not be wise to keep him in Subhadra’s garden? Let me remind you: it was I. I said he was too handsome and smooth-tongued to be trusted. But someone scoffed at my fears and was furious that I dared suspect the yati. That was you, my lord. This is entirely your doing!”

Balarama howled at this. His eyes crimson, he said in a softer voice, “I am your brother and I have known you since we were children in Vrindavana. You can deceive the world, but not me. Ah, Krishna, what have you done this time?”

Krishna shrugged. Balarama cried, “But perhaps it is not too late. If we fly toward Indraprastha, we can overtake them before they arrive. I will kill Arjuna and his brothers and burn their city down. Fetch my chariot, I will ride alone!”

The guard commander ran to obey him. Now Krishna knew there was real danger. When his slow brother was roused, no one could stop him, except perhaps Krishna himself. He laid a hand on Balarama’s arm, “You mustn’t be so angry, they are our cousins. Let us think calmly about what has happened.”

He led Balarama to a sea-swept stone seat and, perching at his side, said, “You think Arjuna abducted Subhadra; but from what we hear, this isn’t quite true. Our sister called for the chariot and the guards all agree that she held the reins, not he. Shan’t we seem fools, if we take war to the Panda-vas and discover Subhadra went willingly with Arjuna?”

He paused, then mused, “And, if you think about it, our sister has made off with the finest kshatriya on earth.”

Balarama growled to disagree, but he was beginning to calm down. Krishna went on, “Arjuna is a prince of the House of Kuru, a descendant of Manu and Bharata. His mother is our aunt and his natural father, Indra himself. I take his love for Subhadra not as an insult, but an honor.

As for his valor, apart from you perhaps, there is no one on earth like Arjuna.”

Krishna did not say it in so many words, but the implication was there: if Balarama pursued Arjuna and the Pandava defeated him in battle, the honor of the Yadavas would be in tatters. And the outcome of a duel between his brother and their cousin need not be a foregone conclusion in Balarama’s favor.

Balarama was breathing more evenly now; the angry glitter had left his eye. He saw reason in what Krishna said, though he still suspected his brother had contrived the entire escapade.

Krishna said, “There is no dishonor to anyone in a peaceful solution. Let us send after Arjuna and Subhadra and have them married in Dwaraka. Subhadra will be happy and Arjuna; so will the Panda-vas, the Yadavas and I.” He smiled. “And I am sure you will be happy as well.”

For a moment, Balarama hesitated; then he also broke into a smile. “Ah, you are right as usual! But I am certain you planned this whole thing.”

The resentment had gone from his voice. The big Yadava was most of all a good-natured man and as long as there was no dishonor in what had happened, he was content to have Arjuna and Subhadra brought back and married formally. So, when the guard commander returned with his chariot, Balarama said to him, “Ride, my friend! Catch up with Arjuna and Subhadra and fetch them back to Dwaraka. Say that Krishna and Balarama want to see them married properly. Tell them we bear Arjuna no grudge and we are happy at our sister’s choice of a husband. Fly! Or they will pass out of your reach.”

The surprised guard commander looked nervously at Krishna. When the Dark One nodded, he saluted them both briskly and rode off like a sea-wind after the princess and her abductor. Or was it the other way and she was the abductress?

Meanwhile, once the lovers had ridden beyond the borders of Krishna’s kingdom, Anarta, they slowed. They stopped the chariot often to kiss. When desire blazed too high, they would ride again, while the wind cooled their ardor. Then, they would slow and embrace. They could hardly wait for night to fall, so they could wrap themselves in covers of darkness and make love in the wilderness. After all, they were man and wife now by gandharva vivaha, the ritual of abduction.

The guard commander from Dwaraka caught up with the lovers’ chariot. Arjuna heard him long before he came into view and the Pandava waited with his bow in his hand. But the soldier came in peace and when Arjuna saw he came alone he lowered his weapon.

The guardsman jumped down from his chariot and folded his hands. The friendly soldier cried, “Felicitations to you both! I bring greetings from my lords Balarama and Krishna. They beg you to return to Dwaraka and be married with proper ceremony.”

Subhadra asked, “Is my brother Balarama not angry?”

“He was at first, princess. But Krishna spoke to him and now he is keen that you return and stay as man and wife in our city.”

Arjuna said, “Tell my cousins we will spend tonight in the wilds, for we wish to be alone. Tomorrow we will return and be married formally in Dwaraka. Nothing will please me more.”

Bowing, the soldier climbed back into his chariot and rode back to Dwaraka with the wind whistling around him. When he arrived, preparations were already in full swing and the ocean-city was being decked out like a bride herself for the occasion. Krishna had been certain that, if sued with peace, Arjuna would return.

The young lovers spent the night of their gandharva vivaha in a familiar cave on Raivataka, where Arjuna had first seen the woman of his dreams without knowing who she was. The moon peered in on their sweet exertions through the cave-mouth.