THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (44 page)

After a moment, Vibheeshana said, “You are welcome to Lanka, Ghatotkacha. We grant you freedom of our city. I want to hear all about the Pandavas and their dark cousin. We are told Krishna is the Avatara who has come at the end of the yuga: the one born into the House of the Moon. I hear he is my Rama returned to the world for its deliverance. Come, my son, sit near me and tell me about your uncles.”

Thinking how gentle this king was, more a human being than a rakshasa, Ghatotkacha sat beside Vibheeshana and recounted the lives of the Pandavas. He began with the times of Bheeshma the patriarch, the son of Ganga; and in a while, he had brought the Lord of Lanka to the southern shore of Bharatavarsha, where Sahadeva waited. Whenever Ghatotkacha spoke of Krishna, he saw how intently the king listened, as if he hung on every word. Vibheeshana saw another dark face in his mind, a face long since vanished from the earth.

When Ghatotkacha finished, Vibheeshana said, “Tell your uncles I will be honored to come to Indraprastha for their Rajasuya yagna. Meanwhile, will you take a few gifts from me for the Pandava king?”

Vibheeshana thought, ‘How can I not come to Indraprastha? At least to see your face, Krishna.’

The few gifts turned out to be a small treasure, mainly of jewels from another yuga, whose worth could not be estimated in these times: auspicious pearls, corals, rubies, blue sapphires and emeralds big as eggs. Receiving these in a silken bag, Ghatotkacha knelt before Vibheeshana for his blessing. The king laid his palm on his head, then, drew him up and embraced him.

“You are a worthy nephew of your uncles and a worthy son of your father. But come, let me show you from where another uncle of yours once leapt out of Lanka.”

Vibheeshana led Ghatotkacha on to an open terrace and showed him a place in the stone floor where two great footmarks had been filled with gold and sparkling gemstones. There was an offering of incense and fresh flowers before them.

“This is from where Hanuman of the vanaras, who was another son of Vayu, leapt across the sea. And how Lanka shook! A yuga has passed since then. Today, Ghatotkacha, you must leap from here and we will record your coming as well. Let it remind us that he who came as Rama has been born again into the world.”

So, from quite near where Hanuman once leapt, Bheema’s son flew up with a roar into the cyanic blue and flashed back through the sky to Sahadeva. In Lanka, the rakshasas marked the place from where he leapt.

Sahadeva received his nephew excitedly. Truth to tell, when he had sent Ghatotkacha to Lanka he had not been sure if Vibheeshana still ruled there. Now, the young rakshasa had returned with gifts worthy of an emperor and Vibheeshana’s promise that he would attend the Rajasuya. Blessing Ghatotkacha, hugging him, Sahadeva sent him back to the secret forests from where he had come, to his mother. Ghatotkacha vanished before Sahadeva’s eyes just like a dream.

North rode the Pandava, along the eastern coast of Bharatavarsha, until he reached the Pandya kingdom; and Chitrasena received him. Sahadeva spent a few days with Chitrangadaa and Babhruvahana. Having invited them to the Rajasuya, the son of the Asvins came home to Indraprastha, laden with carriage-loads of tribute.

Nakula was already back and Bheema and Arjuna, too. Nakula had gone only to Dwaraka, to invite Krishna and his Yadavas formally.

Almost on Sahadeva’s heels, Krishna arrived in Indraprastha. He came with his army, like a sea and his wives riding in golden palanquins borne on chariots. When Yudhishtira met Krishna at the city-gates, as always he embraced the Blue One and wept for joy. One by one, the others welcomed their incarnate cousin.

In the palace, Draupadi and Subhadra received Krishna, Rukmini, Satyabhama and Jambavati. Kunti was there, with tears in her eyes. She knew that without her dark nephew, the Rajasuya yagna would have remained a dream.

Krishna had brought a thousand gifts. Yudhishtira took him to the treasury. When the Dark One saw the gold and jewels spilling over from great coffers, he said, “It is time for the yagna. Now you are an emperor by your wealth, also; an emperor by the purity of your heart you have always been. If your coffers are as full as this, I am sure your granaries must overflow. Why, all Bharatavarsha seems blessed since your brothers rode through it, proclaiming you a king of kings.

Don’t delay anymore, Yudhishtira; you have all the means for the Rajasuya. Let your brahmanas decide on an auspicious day for the sacrifice to begin.”

Yudhishtira turned silently to face his cousin and Krishna saw his eyes fill again: with gratitude and worship. With a laugh, he embraced Yudhishtira.

TEN THE RAJASUYA YAGNA
 

Yudhishtira called a council of his ministers and advisors and all the kshatriyas of Indraprastha, in the Mayaa sabha. Veda Vyasa was there. Unlike the last sabha he had called, when he was so full of doubt, today the Pandava exuded assurance.

“My cousin Krishna and my grandfather Vyasa agree it is time for us to perform the Rajasuya yagna. I have called you here to assign tasks and responsibilities to each of you.

Nakula my brother, you must go to Hastinapura, to Bheeshma and Drona, to Dhritarashtra, Kripa, Baahlika, Somadatta, Bhoorisravas and our cousins, Duryodhana and his brothers. Go to every one and invite him respectfully on my behalf. Do not forget Gandhari’s brother Shakuni and his sons. And don’t forget the noble Karna and Aswatthama.”

There was a murmur in the sabha. But the excitement of the occasion was such that no one objected to inviting even their enemies, men who had tried to murder the sons of Pandu. Krishna hid a smile. Only he and perhaps Vyasa, saw what lay in store, in the future. The Pandavas could only think of honor and glory; any thought of tragedy was far from their minds.

Yudhishtira went on, “Tell our elders and our kinsmen we await their arrival eagerly and they shall not be guests but sacrificers themselves.”

He turned to Sahadeva, “You, Sahadeva, must collect everything that Dhaumya and his brahmanas need for the yagna: the grain, the vessels and the gold. Send Arjuna’s sarathies, Indrasena and Pooru, with a force of chariots to gather rice from all the kingdoms.

Sahadeva, you shall also have charge of sending messengers to the kings of Bharatavarsha, inviting them to the yagna; and not just kings, but our own people and any others who care to come.

The other preparations for the yagna itself will be best left to Muni Vyasa and Krishna, who know about these things. If we agree that we may begin, let us not delay. If anyone has doubts or reservations, let them speak now.”

But everyone in Mayaa’s marvelous hall was just full of anticipation. The council to discuss the sacrifice was quickly concluded and the actual preparations got underway.

Nakula arrived in Hastinapura to an affectionate welcome from the elders of that city. Bheeshma, Drona, Kripa and even blind Dhritarashtra came out to usher him into the Kuru court, where he invited them, formally, to the Rajasuya yagna.

“I have come today not only in love, as a son of Hastinapura, but as my brother’s messenger,” said Nakula. “Yudhishtira means to perform a Rajasuya yagna in Indraprastha, with the Gods’ blessings and all of yours. He asked me to invite each one of you to the yagna, not only as guests of honor, but as members of our family and sacrificers yourselves. May I tell my brother that you will come? The yagna will not be complete without your presence.”

Dhritarashtra’s masklike smile never left his face. “Of course we shall come, now that your brother has sent you to invite us.”

Afterwards, Nakula went to every great Kuru, beginning with Bheeshma, then to Vidura, Drona, Kripa and at last to the younger princes, Duryodhana and his brothers and Karna. He was humble, respectful; and they were so curious to see Indraprastha they did not hesitate to accept his invitation. They all said how happy they would be to come.

Of course, not all of them were pleased about the yagna; and not Nakula, Yudhishtira or anybody deceived themselves they were. But, as dharma demanded, the Kauravas had been invited to the great sacrifice and they had accepted their cousins’ invitation.

In Indraprastha, preparations were in full swing. The granaries and the treasury did indeed overflow with tribute. This tribute was paid willingly to an emperor whose spirit was immaculate, whose dharma was meticulous and deep and whose reign was truly blessed, so a time of grace and fortune had come to all Bharatavarsha. The people of the city were full of sweet fervor: they could hardly bear to wait.

Already there was singing and dancing in the streets and those that had braved a desert for Yudhishtira’s sake were amply rewarded now. He made sure that, more than anyone, they shared in his moment of glory. They were appointed to important positions for the sacrifice. Whenever a council met, they sat in places of honor in the Mayaa sabha. They were persons of obvious influence in Indraprastha.

Came spring, the season for the yagna. The very earth, the rivers and hills, the winds and mountains were alive to the news: after an age, an emperor was to be crowned, one sovereign ruler for all the sacred land. In Indraprastha, the royal guests began to arrive. A thousand kings and their legions came to the city, bringing lavish gifts.

The Kuru princes from Hastinapura arrived in some grandeur, their train resplendent. But the Kauravas brought only moderate gifts for their cousins, who had once come out of the jungle like orphans, when Pandu died. That, perhaps, was how the Kauravas always thought of the Pandavas: as poor cousins, upstarts who had taken from them, the king’s sons, what was rightfully theirs. Duryodhana and his brothers came expecting to find that every splendid description they had heard of Indraprastha, the Mayaa sabha and the rest, was a huge exaggeration. Indraprastha was more than they had heard or imagined; it was like a city of the Gods.

When the Kauravas arrived, Krishna, who was responsible for the miracle in the wilderness, was there to welcome them with his disturbing smile. How Duryodhana and his brothers flinched from the Blue One’s mocking eyes that gazed into their very souls and the darkness there.

Krishna had said to Yudhishtira, “Make sure your cousins from Hastinapura feel welcome, so they aren’t envious of you.”

The trusting Yudhishtira had asked, “What shall I do to make them feel welcome?”

“Let them be given vital tasks, like your own brothers. Duryodhana, especially, must have an important charge.”

“What charge shall I give him?”

Innocently, Krishna had replied, “Why not charge of the treasury? It will make him feel like one of us.”

After the Kurus from Hastinapura were ensconced in stately mansions, Yudhishtira went to meet them. He fell at Bheeshma’s feet, Drona’s and Kripa’s and sought his elders’ blessings. Dhritarashtra himself had cried off from coming, saying being blind would make him unbearably sad on such an occasion. People said this was not the actual reason for his not coming.

With tears of real joy in his eyes, Yudhishtira said, “Treat this city as your own. Bless me so the yagna may be a success; it is your sacrifice as much as mine; it is a Rajasuya of the Kuruvamsa.”

He asked Duryodhana if he would take charge of the treasury; and Duryodhana could not refuse the honor. Dusasana was given charge of feeding the guests, Sanjaya of protocol, receiving the visiting kings and assigning mansions for them to stay in and places to sit at the yagna. Kripa was to distribute gifts to the brahmanas and kshatriyas who came and the common people.

Every member of the party from Hastinapura found himself with an important charge and many were pleased to be treated like part of the family. Bheeshma and Drona were given the reverence due to the elders of the clan: they had overall responsibility for the arrangements. Even Shakuni was treated with regard.

But when Duryodhana inspected his charge and saw the extent of Yudhishtira’s wealth, he seethed with an envy that threatened to derange him. Of course, he showed nothing of it and threw himself into his task. Krishna, who saw into his heart, saw the agony he was in and smiled to himself. By getting the noble and at times, naïve Yudhishtira to give Duryodhana charge of Indraprastha’s treasury, he had sown a seed that would sprout into a horrific war.

All the kshatriyas had arrived and the illustrious brahmanas, who would conduct the yagna. Vyasa was to be the chief priest. Narada, Bharadvaja, Sumantu, Gautama, Asita, Vasishta, Chyvana, Kanva, Maitreya, Kavasa, Trita, Viswamitra, Parasara, Kashyapa, Virasena and a hundred others out of Devaloka, not yet sealed from the earth by the darkness of the kali yuga, had also come.

Susharma would chant the hymns of the Sama Veda; Yajnavalkya would recite the slokas and mantras; Paila, Vasu’s son and Dhaumya would pour libation on to the sacred fire. The common people had turned out in crowds. Brahmanas, kshatriyas, vaishyas and sudras, from every walk and station of life, thronged the yagnashala.

With golden ploughs, the immortal brahmanas, among them Brahma’s own sons, turned the earth where they would worship the Gods with offerings and slokas. When this was done, Yudhishtira was crowned emperor and consecrated as the sacrificer.

During the coronation, as he listened to the chanting of hymns and watched Pandu’s son being crowned sovereign of all Bharatavarsha, Narada muni had a strange and oppressive vision. At first, a pang of panic gripped him and he turned to look at Krishna, who sat smiling as brightly as ever beside Yudhishtira.

Suddenly, as in a hallucination, Narada saw the smile disappear from the Avatara’s face. The muni saw how grim Krishna’s expression was, his eyes full of awesome destiny. In a moment, Narada was borne out of himself on a phantasm of the future: of a cataclysmic war, which revolved mysteriously around the Avatara.

Narada saw dismembered corpses piled on a vast battlefield, where the earth was covered with a scarlet patina, a lake of kshatriyas’ blood. He saw the kings and princes from Yudhishtira’s yagna lay upon that field in the grotesque and passionate postures of death. Some had their heads dissevered, others had arrows and swords protruding from them like organs of horror sprouted from their bodies and screams frozen on their contorted faces. Narada saw, with terrible prescience, the devastation of kshatriya kind. He saw a new age, of the sudra ruler, risen over the earth: the kali yuga of perpetual night.

In the daze of that chasmal vision, as if he had no will any more, Narada turned to look at the man being crowned emperor today. He saw the goodness on that face, the very quality that would cause the gruesome war.

Narada’s eyes wandered from Yudhishtira’s face to the face of the unreally beautiful woman who sat beside him. He gazed raptly at Draupadi. With mystic insight, the muni saw the prophecy that attended her birth being fulfilled: that she would be the nemesis of kshatriya kind. How perfect she was, like a dark Goddess who had come where she did not belong. She is too beautiful for this earth, thought Narada; she belongs in a rarer realm, or in the lost past of the world when beauty like hers would have found some comparison. Now, she was alone in her stunning loveliness, like a full moon among dim planets, peerless by a long way: she, the empress of Bharatavarsha.

Sighing, Narada turned his eyes away from Panchali’s supernatural beauty. His gaze alighted on Duryodhana. The Kaurava smoldered with the envy in his heart. The rishi wanted to laugh aloud at that prince: his obsession was so absurd. Then, Narada had a powerful premonition of the tragedy in which Duryodhana’s envy would result, inevitably, even as night follows day. He glanced at Krishna again and saw the Dark One was intent once more. The rishi saw Krishna also glance at Duryodhana, watching the Kaurava trying to mask the monstrous hatred that shone so plainly in his pale eyes for a moment.

Narada saw into Duryodhana’s heart: Dhritarashtra’s violent son imagined himself killing Yudhishtira and, drenched in his cousin’s blood, he mounted the emperor’s throne. He saw Panchali become his queen; he held her naked in his arms.

Narada looked away from Duryodhana and found himself staring at another face, in which all the darkness of the human soul seemed focused—eyes that mirrored a heart so cold, so malevolent, that even Narada, who had seen plenty of evil men in his time, shivered. He was looking at the crafty and disdainful face of Shakuni. Shakuni saw Narada’s regard and favored him with a sardonic smile; above it, his eyes were like those of a cobra. Narada nodded quickly to Shakuni and turned his gaze away to Karna, who sat not far from Duryodhana’s uncle.

Such a contrast: here, if ever, was a noble face, though masked with a studied indifference, a permanent bitterness. Yet, the eyes were honest. Like Yudhishtira’s eyes, thought Narada, like Kunti’s. If destiny had been less cruel, not Yudhishtira, but Karna would have sat on the emperor’s throne today. Then, in a lucid image that only Krishna could have inveigled into his mind, Narada saw Karna also slain. An arrow, shot by a brother who did not know who he was, cut his head from his neck.

The vision of a horrible battlefield engulfed the rishi again. He saw Dhritarashtra’s hundred sons being slaughtered, one after the other. He saw all these mighty kshatriyas, who had come to the Rajasuya, laid out on that savage field, their limbs askew in death’s final attitudes.

Narada had witnessed the most ancient and legendary battles of the earth. He had seen Siva burn Daksha’s sacrifice, in times when the world was a nebulous mystery, an age when the first stars were still being strewn in the sky. Yet, even that muni was filled with horror by what he saw of the war these kshatriyas would fight among them.

Shivering, partly in pity and partly in fear, Narada turned back to Krishna. Now, the Blue One smiled so knowingly at him and those fathomless black eyes mocked the rishi tenderly.