THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (43 page)

have never killed Jarasandha without you.”

Krishna replied, “Don’t balk at the Rajasuya any more.”

Yudhishtira made them recount the battle between Bheema and Jarasandha, day by day, blow by blow, again and again; as if he could never hear enough about the enemy’s strength and Bheema’s valor. And Bheema never tired of telling the part when he had the shock of his life: when, after he had torn Jarasandha in two the first time, his body joined itself together and that king stood laughing at the Pandava.

“That is when I was sure everything was lost.” Then he would sigh, “But Krishna was with me and Jarasandha’s time had come.”

Krishna said to Yudhishtira, “I must go back to Dwaraka and you must send your legions to the four quarters, with your brothers leading them. Declare yourself emperor of Bharatavarsha and collect tribute from all the kingdoms for your sacrifice. With Jarasandha dead and a hundred kings already having sworn allegiance to you, your task will not be hard. When Bheema, Arjuna, Sahadeva and Nakula ride home in triumph, I will also come with the Yadavas from Dwaraka. And we will perform the great yagna, so your father and his fathers ascend into Indra’s heaven.”

With quiet satisfaction, that his most implacable enemy, Jarasandha, was dead, Krishna came home to Dwaraka.

NINE THE FOUR QUARTERS
 

In Indraprastha, excitement was in the air. The Rajasuya yagna was on everyone’s lips. From being some ruins in a wilderness of thorns, this city would soon be the focus of Bharatavarsha, her emperor’s capital. Vyasa arrived and he advised Yudhishtira on every detail of the sacrifice.

“You must first receive tribute from all the kings of Bharata. Let your brothers go forth and subdue the four quarters in your name. Only an emperor may perform the Rajasuya yagna.”

Arjuna elected to go north, Bheema east, Nakula west and Sahadeva to the south. No king could resist Arjuna’s advent; most preferred to acknowledge Yudhishtira’s sovereignty without a battle that they could only lose. As Arjuna went north, the name Vijaya—the victorious—followed his triumphal progress.

Salva, the Sivabhakta and sorcerer whom Amba once chose, barred his way. Shalva was a friend of Kamsa and Jarasandha, of Rukmi and Sishupala of the old conspiracy that had opposed Krishna from the start. But he was no longer the dauntless kshatriya he had once been. Since news of Jarasandha’s death spread, every king of that alliance was forced to reconsider his position. It was as if their heart had been carved from them.

Shalva had heard that Bheema had torn Jarasandha in two. He thought Arjuna’s arrival in his kingdom was a fine opportunity to take revenge on the Pandavas. It was not to be. Arjuna won the day in a humiliatingly brief encounter. Quite simply, no army on earth could stand before his unearthly archery.

Salva, also, had to send Yudhishtira tribute. But he did not attend the Rajasuya; nursing his shame, he swore to strike back. He was convinced Krishna was the moving spirit behind these Panda-vas. They were nothing without their blue cousin; he was the real enemy. Shalva swore he would avenge himself on Krishna for Jarasandha’s death and his own defeat. And indeed, he would try; but not yet.

Arjuna marched on and came to the northern-most city in Bharatavarsha. The Demon Naraka, the son of Bhumi Devi and the Varaha, once ruled Pragjyotishapura in the mountains. Krishna killed Naraka, some years ago and his son Bhagadatta was now king in his father’s city of sorcery perched between heaven and earth.

Krishna had breached Pragjyotishapura, flying out of the sky on Garuda. Arjuna arrived by tortuous mountain trails, with his army from Indraprastha. He sent word to Bhagadatta that he should pay tribute to Yudhishtira or be prepared to fight him. And because he was a great kshatriya himself, Bhagadatta came out of his city to face Arjuna in the valley in which Pragjyotishapura was built.

Eight days, the two fought. Eight nights, the mountains lit up with other suns risen over them: the light of livid astras. Arjuna extinguished Bhagadatta’s final missile and it fell in a shower of embers on to white peaks. Bhagadatta came before the Pandava and gave up his city of black crystal.

“Your father was my friend, Arjuna and Pandu could never have vanquished me in battle. You are a greater kshatriya than he was. What shall I do for you?”

Before his own army, before the people of Pragjyotishapura, Arjuna prostrated himself at Bhagadatta’s feet. The Pandava said humbly, “Bhumiputra, Son of the Earth, my brother Yudhishtira means to perform a Rajasuya yagna in Indraprastha. We shall be honored if you attend.”

Bhagadatta embraced Arjuna and cried, “I shall be honored to come!”

Arjuna left Pragjyotishapura, laden with treasures, many wrought in the elder ages. Bhagadatta gave him the golden vessels of Varuna, the very ones with which the Lord of the ocean performed his own Rajasuya, in time out of mind, the infancy of the earth. But Bhagadatta never forgave Arjuna for defeating him.

Arjuna rode toward Ramagiri, the mountain where Rama had lived for some weeks of his exile. The waters of its lake were sacred; for, precious Sita had bathed in them. It was on Ramagiri that Arjuna first fought the Trigarthas. After a long and fierce encounter, he had their measure and they fled from him. But their enmity was to last until he killed them all in the war on the crack of the ages.

The Trigarthas called themselves Samsaptakas from then. They swore to kill Arjuna and became Duryodhana’s allies.

Still further north went Arjuna and he saw the peak of Meru before him in the virgin light of dawn. It seemed the massif wrapped itself in a cloak of gold and crimson and, then, offered the light of the sun back to the star. Arjuna stood chastened at the foot of Meru. He could feel the mountain’s spirit, replete with the eternal Brahman.

Full of a sense of primordial time and deep peace, Arjuna prostrated himself before golden Meru, from which the continents unfurl like petals from the corolla of a lotus. At last, the Pandava wrenched himself away from that holiest mountain and turned back to the harsh world and its endless conflicts. Before he turned south, he prayed fervently that he would have the fortune to return to this place, some day, when all his battles were over.

As he went, he saw how the lower slopes of Meru were overgrown with the verdant jambu vine, in vivid bloom now, with orange and vermilion flowers splashed everywhere, in places like blood on a wounded warrior. The jambu was especially sacred to the eldest mountain rishis, some of whom lived for thousands of years. The land of Bharata is called Jambu Dwipa by the siddhas and charanas who are not mortal.

Though he was a kshatriya, Arjuna was always drawn to solitary places and to silence. There still remained one mountain he must see before he went back: Gandhamadana, the fragrant one, gatekeeper of Devaloka! Having paid homage to that great spirit as well, Arjuna turned home to Indraprastha, to bring Yudhishtira news that the northern quarter had been conquered in his name and worship offered to Meru and Gandhamadana.

Arjuna came home laden with treasure from all the kingdoms he passed through and he was called Dhananjaya, winner of wealth.1

Meanwhile, Bheema had set out toward the countries of the rising sun. Through Panchala he went and came to Mithila where its king resisted him: but not for long. Soon, carrying tribute from vanquished Mithila, he came to Chedi, his cousin Sishupala’s kingdom. Since the Dark One had carried Rukmini away on the day she was to marry that prince, Sishupala had been Krishna’s mortal enemy. He had fought outside Mathura eighteen times, in every army Jarasandha brought to Krishna’s gates; and more than often, Krishna had spared his cousin’s life.

Bheema expected Sishupala to meet him with an army at the gates of Chedi. Instead, a warm reception awaited him. The streets had been hung with garlands and perfumed with elephants’ ichor and incense, to welcome the Pandava. In some surprise, Bheema allowed himself to be feted in the most effusive fashion. It occurred to him that Sishupala was only testing the wind after Jarasandha’s death.

But such was the hospitality of the ‘Bull of Chedi’ that Bheema became convinced Sishupala was, also, genuinely affectionate. Finally, the time came to leave.

“Be sure to come to the Rajasuya, cousin!”

1. Several other conquests are described in detail in the original text—by Arjuna and his brothers.

“How could I not come?” cried Sishupala and Bheema naively imagined a new bond had been forged. He felt sure that Krishna and Sishupala would also bury their enmity.

On to Kosala, Ayodhya and a hundred other, lesser kingdoms rode the son of the wind. They all paid him tribute for his brother in Indraprastha: some after battle, which was inevitably short and one-sided and others without resistance, coming out to receive the kshatriya at their gates, yielding to him without a blow being struck.

At last, Bheema came to Magadha, to hidden Girivraja and Jarasandha’s son, young Sahadeva, received him with respect and promised to be in Indraprastha for the Rajasuya. Bearing wealth from the eastern kingdoms, Bheema returned home to a hero’s welcome from Yudhishtira.

A month later, Sahadeva came home as well, carrying treasures from the south. He had defeated Dantavakra of Jarasandha’s old conspiracy, Srenima, Vinda and Anuvinda, the brothers of Avanti and Neela of Mahishmati in the deepest south of Bharatavarsha.

Then, Sahadeva arrived on the shore of the southern sea and stood upon a lonely beach on a silvery night as the waves dinned their thunder at him. Across these waves, lay the island of Lanka, where a noble king of an olden race of rakshasas still ruled. That king, Vibheeshana, belonged to an age when men lived for thousands of years and were altogether more splendid than the men of these lesser days could imagine.

Vibheeshana was the rishi Pulastya’s son and the legendary Ravana’s brother. Once, when Ravana held Sita a prisoner in Lanka, Vibheeshana had begged his brother to return her to Rama, or doom would visit their island. Blinded by passion and deluded by the flattery of fawning courtiers, Ravana turned on Vibheeshana, accusing him of cowardice and treachery.

Vibheeshana fled Lanka and joined Rama. When Ravana died after a savage war, Rama crowned Vibheeshana king in Lanka. With mighty Hanuman, Vibheeshana also flew to Ayodhya in Kubera’s pushpaka vimana for Rama’s coronation. Long ago, Rama had left the world; but Chiranjeevi Vibheeshana still ruled Lanka when, one night, Sahadeva the Pandava came to the southern tip of Bharatavarsha and stood gazing across the surging foam, with the wind whistling around him.

Sahadeva felt he must invite Vibheeshana to the Rajasuya yagna. But he was no Rama and his army had no awesome vanaras in it, who could build bridges across the sea, or leap a hundred yojanas across the phosphorescent waves. As he stood on that shining beach, Sahadeva had an inspiration. He shut his eyes and called the name of another fabulous being, for whom oceans and mountains were no obstacles.

Sahadeva had hardly called his name under the flowing moon, than his nephew Ghatotkacha appeared before him. He was so much like Bheema; but taller, slimmer and his head still hairless and smooth as a ghatam, a water-pot. Sahadeva clasped Ghatotkacha to him and the rakshasa knelt before his uncle for his blessing.

Sahadeva said, “On Lanka lives a great rakshasa, who was a bhakta of Rama of Ayodhya. Yudhishtira’s yagna will not be complete unless Vibheeshana attends it. Can you fly to him, my child and say that I beg him to come to my brother’s sacrifice in Indraprastha?”

Ghatotkacha bowed and, easily as a bird, the young rakshasa rose into the sky and flashed away over the sea to the island like a green jewel. With his grandsire, the wind, blowing around him, Ghatotkacha glided along quite like a certain vanara, who was also a son of Vayu, had done an age ago.

As he flew by the light of the setting moon, Ghatotkacha saw a slender necklace of stone and wood laid across the waves. It was broken in many places now, but stretched from the shore of Bharatavarsha, across the horizon, all the way to Lanka. It was Nala the vanara’s bridge: the Nalasetu over which Rama and his monkey legions crossed into Lanka.

Dawn was breaking on the eastern sky, when Ghatotkacha saw Lanka ahead of him: a jade island glimmering in the sleepy ocean. Down flew Ghatotkacha, smoothly as a bird. Now he saw that some mountains thrust their way into the sky from the island. Seeming actually to float above them, was a city that appeared to be made of fine crystal, its towers and mansions sparkling.

Ghatotkacha thought that not the hidden rakshasa cities of the north were as wonderful as Vibheeshana’s capital set like a sapphire in the hills. He remembered Viswakarman had once built this city for terrible Ravana.

Ghatotkacha landed in Vibheeshana’s courtyard. At once, a patrol of stern rakshasas surrounded him with dark weapons drawn. He had never seen ayudhas like these; they were old and of strange appearance. Not, of course, that had he chosen to fight them, those weapons would have been of any use to Vibheeshana’s guard against Ghatotkacha. He was the wind’s grandson. He would have smashed them down even as another Vayuputra had done their ancestors, thousands of years ago.

As it was, unlike Hanuman, Ghatotkacha had come in peace and with a message of friendship for Vibheeshana. He smiled at the soldiers who accosted him and folded his hands to show he meant no harm.

“Look, he is a rakshasa!” said the leader of the guards.

“Indeed I am, uncle, of the northern strain of our people,” replied Ghatotkacha, speaking the old tongue fluently.

Vibheeshana’s was a just kingdom and he was a king of dharma. Not since Rama came to Lanka had the island known war of any kind. Vibheeshana had been content to rule his own people and to return Lanka to the path of truth from which Ravana had torn it. Perhaps, Vibheeshana’s rule was not as brilliant or ambitious as his ten-headed brother’s had been. But it was a reign of peace and had heaven’s favor.

The palace guards brought Ghatotkacha before Vibheeshana, who said gently, “You are one of our own people, young man. Tell me, who are you and what brings you to Lanka?”

Ghatotkacha folded his hands to the great king on his throne, which seemed to be carved out of a single crimson coral. Vibheeshana looked as old as a mountain. His eyes shone affectionately at Ghatotkacha and his face was a map of lines. His presence was one of fathomless stillness.

Ghatotkacha said, “I am Ghatotkacha, my lord. I am Hidimbi’s son and Bheema’s, Vayu’s grandson and a nephew of Yudhishtira, who is Krishna’s cousin and ally. My uncle Sahadeva waits on the southern shore of Bharatavarsha; he sent me. The Pandavas mean to perform a Rajasuya yagna in Indraprastha. Sahadeva begs you to attend the sacrifice.”

As he spoke, Ghatotkacha studied Vibheeshana’s serene face and was reminded of Yudhishtira. He saw the same nobility and purity, the same slow thoughtfulness; and their kindly eyes were so alike.