THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (61 page)

Narada, who was a trikalagyani, said, “Welcome, Muni. I have been expecting you.”

Lomasa bowed to Brahma’s wanderer son, greatest of all Vishnu-bhaktas. The Pandavas brought arghya for the illustrious visitor and had his blessing. When they sat again under the old nyagrodha, Lomasa said, “I have come from Indra’s sabha in Devaloka. I met your brother Arjuna there.”

He saw the delight on the Pandavas’ faces. Draupadi, who couldn’t contain herself, cried, “Oh Muni, tell us how he is! Is he happy in Devaloka? What does he do there? Does he miss us at all, does he even remember us?”

Her lips quivered when she thought Arjuna may not remember her. Lomasa said, “He grieves, even in Amravati, because he cannot stop thinking of all of you. But he had to master the astras, which he will have need of during the war that will be. Arjuna sits beside his father on heaven’s very throne. Yudhishtira, the Lord Indra asks you to undertake a tirtha-yatra through Aryavarta, to purify yourselves for the war. He wanted me to go with you and look after you on your pilgrimage.”

Yudhishtira asked, “And does Arjuna send us any message?”

“Only that he misses all of you fervently.” Then, remembering, “Ah yes, he has a friend and master in Devaloka: Chitrasena the gandharva. Arjuna is not only a master of astras now, but of music and dance as well. Even the Elves of heaven are always keen to have him sing for them!”

The Pandavas and Draupadi began to laugh; they could hardly believe their ears. But Lomasa said, “Indra says that during the thirteenth year of your exile Arjuna will find good use for what he has learnt from Chitrasena.”

They hardly understood how and Bheema asked, “Why does Arjuna stay on in Amravati if he has learnt the astras and music and dancing too?”

“Indra has a task for him. When it is over, your brother will return to the earth.”

Narada said, “In the meanwhile, waste no time in setting out on your yatra. I must leave you now, but we shall meet again soon. As always, I have much to do,” he smiled, “Narayana’s endless work.”

Narada blessed them and went off, plucking on his vina, his voice raised in song to praise the Lord Vishnu, who protects the worlds from evil.

Lomasa said, “I have already bathed twice at all the tirthas. But Indra was keen that I go with you on the pilgrimage Manu himself undertook in the eldest days. What could make a seeker like me happier than visiting the tirthas again?

Precious are the Lord’s tirthas on earth, Yudhishtira. They banish fear and doubt from the human heart as no other worship can. And you, noble king, who are true to your word and firm of resolve: every vestige of attachment will leave you if you visit the holy places.”

Yudhishtira said humbly, “I am overwhelmed, Muni, that Indra remembers me. I have no words with which to thank you. Choose an auspicious hour for us to set out and we shall leave.”

Lomasa said, “It will be best to travel with a small party, taking only the hardiest of your brahmanas. The journey will be quicker. You must ask Dhaumya who will go and who will stay behind.”

Yudhishtira took Dhaumya aside and the others who had come into exile with the Pandavas and been such a source of strength and courage to them. He said, “We will leave shortly on the tirtha-yatra. Only those of you must come with us who can bear the rigors of the long journey, the extremes of the seasons, especially the icy mountain winter. But those who cannot endure the hardship that attends any pilgrimage, should remain behind.”

The brahmanas’ faces lit up at the very mention of a tirtha-yatra. They retired into a little knot of whispered conference among themselves and then Dhaumya said to Yudhishtira, “We came into exile with you, knowing there would be privations to bear. I don’t believe any of us has caused you concern so far?”

He paused and Yudhishtira glanced at Lomasa and saw he was smiling. Dhaumya seemed to be waiting for an answer to his question. Yudhishtira said slowly, “No, Dhaumya, none of the brahmanas has been a burden in any way. On the contrary, you have all been of great support to us.”

Dhaumya cried, “Then take us all with you on your yatra! Without you, we shall never be able to visit the tirthas. Let this be a pilgrimage for everyone.”

Yudhishtira turned doubtfully to Lomasa, but that rishi nodded, agreeing with Dhaumya. When Yudhishtira saw the excitement on the faces of the other brahmanas, he did not have the heart to deny them what they asked.

The Pandava said, “Well, then, we will set out at the hour rishi Lomasa decides on.” And there were tears in his own eyes, as those brahmanas embraced him, one after the other.

Lomasa decided they should leave in three days. Bheema and Draupadi could hardly wait, though they were somewhat calmed by the news of Arjuna that Lomasa brought. On the eve of their departure, however, Narada arrived once more in their asrama and with him came Vyasa and Rishi Parvata, who some said was as old as the earth herself. They had come to bless the Pandavas before they set out on their adventure of the spirit; for, no pilgrimage is any less.

Solemnly, those munis blessed Yudhishtira, his brothers, Draupadi, Dhaumya and his brahmanas. Parvata said in a voice as resonant as his presence, “Let your hearts be pure as you set out. Our blessings go with you, so you will overcome every obstacle on your way.”

It seemed to poor Bheema the ancient one gave him a pointed look and the son of the wind trembled a little. Lying in his bed that night, Bheema prayed that he would become as pure and as patient as his brother Yudhishtira was.

SIXTEEN TIRTHA YATRA1
 

It was the morning after the night of a full moon. The Pandavas, Lomasa and their party set out at dawn, walking toward the sun. All the yatris wore valkala—tree-bark—or animal-hide. The sons of Pandu carried their weapons on the yatra, because they must pass through jungles full of dangerous animals and rakshasas. The birds were singing the rising sun, singing the end of another fearful night.

Side by side, Lomasa and Yudhishtira walked ahead of the others. The younger Pandavas walked with Draupadi and she had brightened up marvelously as soon as they set out. Both she and Bheema were almost their old cheerful selves again, full of jokes, teasing each other; and so were Nakula and Sahadeva. Yudhishtira smiled to himself, to think of the harsh things Bheema and Draupadi had said to him in the asrama. It was obvious that, like children, they had forgotten all that.

A little saddened, Yudhishtira turned to Lomasa and said, “Muni, why do I suffer like this? I have always walked the way of dharma, even at some cost to myself. My enemies, Duryodhana and his brothers, care nothing for truth. They will do anything to gratify themselves, with no thought for what is right or wrong. Yet, they live in comfort in a palace and here I am in the jungle with my unhappy family. I cannot understand this. Why does a man who treads the path of dharma suffer, while those that are steeped in evil come to no harm?”

1. This, too, is described at much greater length in the full text.

The muni replied, “It is the timeless question that many a good man before you has asked in the wilderness and countless more will ask it, in despair, along the deep trails of time. The answer is simple: the evil ones do not prosper but only appear to, at that, very briefly. No man prospers by sin. His own conscience gives him no rest and his crime consumes him from within. Some day, those he has sinned against will recover from the harm he did to them. But the sinner’s guilt remains with him, tormenting him until the hour of retribution arrives.

There is no escape for the demonic man. Justice overtakes him, inexorably, despite all his efforts to keep it away; then, he is destroyed. But remember, Yudhishtira, life is not simple, neither is it as short as we think. All this began long ago. You have lived many lives before this one, so have your brothers and all of us. What you suffer today might well be punishment for some forgotten crime of your own. Of course, that does not justify what has been done to you, but it might explain it.”

“The ways of sin and punishment are complicated,” murmured Yudhishtira.

“Not really,” said Lomasa, “though perhaps they are longer than men realize. But essentially, they are simple and they are universal: the paths of good and evil, of darkness and light.

Take even the Devas and the Asuras: one race condemned to darkness and misery and the other blessed with light, glory and sovereignty over heaven and earth. But it was not always so. Once, they were all spirits of grace and they all had the choice of which path to take. The Devas chose virtue, while the Asuras disdained it. The Asuras were proud and pride became vanity; and because they were vain, they were full of anger, which they themselves could not control, but were its slaves. They became shameless and would do anything to gratify the lusts that were their masters: wrath, greed and the overweening impulse to power.

Their own sins destroyed the Asuras. The Devas committed to dharma. But at times, they too strayed from the difficult path; and whenever they sinned, they paid for what they did. Often, the forces of darkness routed them in battle; or the Asuras gained influence over the earth, which is a domain of the Devas. And at times, when the Devas grew so proud that they neglected dharma, the demons have even driven them out of Devaloka and seized all their realms and their power: so both heaven and earth became provinces of hell.

It was at such times that the Incarnations of Vishnu came to save the world and restore dharma. Though good and evil exist together, in different measures at different times, dharma and adharma, virtue and sin, are primeval and simple. Though theirs is an unending struggle, evil has never triumphed for long over goodness.

In the most antique days, when the Devas grew vain and lost everything, they purified themselves in these same tirthas we are going to. When you have bathed in them, you also will recover your kingdom and your fortune, as they did.”

Yudhishtira walked beside Lomasa in silence. He knew the rishis never speak idly and what they say is beyond the common wisdom of men. The party of princes and ascetics journeyed on, to purify themselves at the tirthas, which are timeless centers of grace upon the earth. They are beyond men’s understanding, but they heal men’s souls, wash their sins and remove the terror that lives in a man’s heart after he has sinned.

They traveled through heavy jungle and jade plain, fording gushy streams and crossing wooded mountains, where forest spirits watched them, unseen. Bheema was surely full of cheer and so were Draupadi, Nakula and Sahadeva; a heavy burden lifted from the patient Yudhishtira’s heart. The journey was so pleasant it seemed the power of the tirthas reached out across the land of Bharata and touched them with immaterial fingers in blessing.

They came to the sacred forest of Naimisa where, once, in time out of mind, a wheel of light fell, which Brahma cast down into the world and sanctified that vana. The Gomati flowed through the Naimisa and the Pandavas bathed in her. When they came ashore, they felt lighter than they had in years, as if a turgid darkness had been taken from them.

They went on to Prayaga, where the golden Ganga flows into the midnight-blue Yamuna and where the Saraswati loses herself in the two greater rivers. Here also they bathed, dipping themselves under the sparkling water with God’s name on their lips and in their hearts. Again, they felt cleansed of a darkness that had clung to them, while they hardly realized they had carried such a burden. Draupadi bathed in seclusion, after the Pandavas and the munis; and she would emerge, her eyes and dark skin shining!

The days and nights of pilgrimage passed, but after their first ablutions, they felt no strain whatever from the journey. It was as if a vast strength had risen in their spirits and it could take them on forever. They came south, following the age-old trail of countless pilgrims before them, to the Mahanadi. Here, too, they bathed and felt as if they were in a river of light, which washed away the final vestiges of grossness that clung to their spirits.

It was after bathing in the Mahanadi that Bheema and Draupadi came to Yudhishtira. Bheema had tears in his eyes. Red-faced, he blurted, “Forgive me, my brother! I did not realize what I was saying. Oh, forgive me Yudhishtira, I never meant to hurt you.”

Yudhishtira embraced his brother. Turning to Draupadi, he saw that she also wept. She fell at his feet, sobbing, “I was wrong to doubt you; my heart was full of sorrow.”

Yudhishtira glowed! He raised her up and clasped her to him. He said, “Now I don’t feel alone any more. Our hardest battle is already won.”

On the banks of the Mahanadi, the maharishi Agastya had his asrama. Lomasa took the Pandavas to that profound sage for his blessing. Agastya was delighted to receive Yudhishtira and his brothers. He knew who they were and everything about them.

He said, “The rains are almost upon us. It would be foolish to travel during the monsoon, with these frail munis and a woman. Stay here with us for these four months. You shall be more than welcome, Lord of the earth.”

Yudhishtira was happy to accept the invitation; and neither Bheema nor Draupadi made any protest. Four serene months passed swiftly. There was deep blessedness in Agastya’s asrama and time here seemed to flit by. Yudhishtira especially was blissful, because Agastya made it a point to spend time with him, each morning, chatting of this and that. Hardly seeming to, Agastya imparted much wisdom to the man who would be emperor of the earth again one day.

Once, when the maharishi went off mysteriously into the jungle, for a few days, Lomasa told Yudhishtira about Agastya. An age ago, he came down from the mountains when a black night of evil fell upon the earth. The Devas cursed the world and all the trees in it withered and a terrible drought seized the land. Agastya came down with the bright seeds of celestial trees in his hands and scattered them over the sacred country, ending the curse. The rains returned to Bharatavarsha. Lomasa told them other legends about Agastya muni. He told the story of the demon brothers, Ilvala and Vatapi, who waylaid unsuspecting travelers through this forest, to make a meal of them; until, Agastya disguised himself as a traveling mendicant and ate the rakshasas himself!

Agastya once remarked to Yudhishtira, “How happy I am that you have come to me. Do you know, a yuga ago, another kshatriya came to my asrama in the Dandaka vana? He, also, had his brother with him and his wife followed him into exile. He too had been banished from his kingdom with treachery.”

Agastya stared at Yudhishtira as if to probe his deepest heart. Then he smiled. He seemed to have satisfied himself about the king who sat before him. “Yes, indeed, you do remind me of the prince of Ayodhya. Though that was another yuga, when men lived much longer than they do now. But men’s hearts don’t change very much and you are so like that kshatriya. Yudhishtira, though he faced many trials, he survived his exile, went home to Ayodhya and ruled the earth for twelve thousand years. And what a glorious time that was for the world: Ramarajya, the rule of Rama.”

He took the Pandava’s hand, “Don’t worry, my son. You will also rule the earth again one day, soon and as wisely as Rama did. Destiny will fulfil herself beyond the plotting of evil men. That is what you were born for, Pandava and that is what will be, inevitably. It is night now for you, a time to look within. Use it well; chasten yourself with this hardship. Suffering also is a blessing and one must profit from one’s trials and grow by them.”

Four months exactly, the monsoon lashed Bharatavarsha. Then one day the sky was clear, with not a straggle of cloud in its cerulean expanse and Yudhishtira saw it was time to move on. Taking their leave of Agastya, who blessed them with many boons, the Pandavas left the banks of the Mahanadi and journeyed to the rivers Nanda and Paramananda. From there, they walked to the mountain Hemakuta and worshipped its immaculate spirit. Now they turned west, for the last part of their pilgrimage.

All along the tirtha-yatra, Lomasa was full of wonderful legends of the places at which they worshipped. Each tirtha came alive, as it could never have done if the rishi had not been with them. By his inspiration, their worship was pure as stars. Their hearts were full of a sense of being part of God’s majestic plan, though they could not begin to fathom its scope. Full of humility, they went from tirtha to tirtha, feeling lighter with every ablution, hope surging in their bodies and hearts.

They bathed in the Godavari and the rivers of the south, then turned west until they came to the ocean. Walking north along the seashore, along a path that Arjuna had once taken, the Pandavas came to Prabhasa. With inscrutable instinct, Krishna sensed their coming and he was waiting for them with Balarama, Satyaki and some other Yadavas.

When Yudhishtira saw Krishna, he ran across the length of the beach at Prabhasa, with waves lapping at his feet. Crying Krishna’s name aloud, Yudhishtira ran into his cousin’s arms, feeling his life begin again, miraculously, that he saw the Avatara before him: his dark face, his dazzling smile, his black eyes so full of love! For the first time, Yudhishtira knelt before Krishna and the Dark One blessed him.

The younger Pandavas came up and Krishna blessed them. He blessed Draupadi, saying, “You look even lovelier. I think the tirtha-yatra has done you all great good.”

Then, Dhaumya and the other brahmanas knelt in awe before Krishna and he laid his palm on their heads.

But Balarama, fair as the kunda flower, the moon, silver and the white lotus, was shocked when he saw Yudhishtira and his brothers, clad in deerskin and tree-bark, their hair long and matted in hermits’ jata. Balarama was seeing his cousins like this for the first time. He clasped Yudhishtira to him and bellowed, “The eldest son of the House of Kuru wears valkala, with jata down to his shoulders, so I would have never recognized him. Has the world gone mad?”

He turned to Draupadi, “Queen of the earth, my eyes are cursed that they see you like this! Panchali, is this really you? Krishna, how can you bear to see them like this? Ah, how did Bheeshma and Drona allow this? How did Dhritarashtra stand for it?”

Balarama shook his head from side to side and Krishna had a mischievous gleam in his eye to listen to his brother. Balarama sighed, “How could Duryodhana stoop to this? He banished them for thirteen years and rules the world from Yudhishtira’s throne, while these Pandavas roam the earth like beggars.

I have seen Yudhishtira in the Mayaa sabha, where every king of Bharatvarsha paid him homage. I am amazed the earth does not yawn open and swallow sinning humankind: that this king of dharma goes like a mendicant upon her.

Come Krishna, come Satyaki! Let the Yadavas right this wrong. Let us ride on Hastinapura and restore the Pandavas’ kingdom to them.”

Satyaki cried, “Let us ride today! We will sweep Dhritarashtra’s sons from the face of the earth and set Yudhishtira on the throne that is his.”

Krishna said quietly, “I don’t think Yudhishtira will approve of your plan.”

To which Satyaki cried, “If Yudhishtira must keep the conditions of his exile, let him. Let us set Arjuna’s son Abhimanyu on the throne of Hastinapura, until the exile is over. Don’t waste any time, the devils have enjoyed the fruit of their sin for long enough. It is a shame not just for the Pandavas, but for the Yadavas as well, that, while we are lords of the earth, Yudhishtira and his brothers live so miserably!”