THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (70 page)

In an awesome form, he comes. He enters the seven rays of the sun as transcendent fire and subsumes the myriad waters of the earth, draining them into himself. Oceans and rivers he absorbs, lakes, mountain-springs and streams; he dries up the darkling waters of patala. Then, those seven rays he has entered become seven separate suns blazing in the sky. They set alight the three worlds as cotton balls dipped in ghee. Mountains, sea-beds, green valleys, islands, the continents, are all ignited and burn like dry grass in that firestorm.

When Rudra has consumed the worlds, he stands upon the cosmic ether and from his chasmal mouth banks of clouds issue, greater than galaxies: clouds like vast elephant herds in fathomless space, thunder-roaring clouds, gashed with immense lightning to blind the terrified Devas in heaven.

Some clouds are dark like the twilight lotus, which bloomed once in jungle-hearts; some are yellow, others amber. Some have the color and texture of chrysoberyl, others of sparkling sapphire and yet others are like red lacquer. Some clouds have the shapes of sea-conches, some of jasmine flowers of crystal in the sky; these are white as goose-feathers, but streaked with lightning black as collyrium.

But others are menacing, themselves dark as night; still others are bright as blue jays’ wings and peacock-feathers. Swiftly, there are towns of clouds in the sky, mountain ranges of them; there are unimaginable palaces in the firmament and the strangest faces, some calm, some demented, staring with eyes of fire, latticed with veins of lightning.

The cloudbanks roar to deafen even the Devas’ dimensions, which are not material. Then they open in the sky and a sheet-rain falls over the inferno that rages upon the three worlds below. In a day and a night, the rain has extinguished the conflagration of God, which consumed his creation. At the end of each kali yuga, the destruction stops with this deluge; but at the end of a kalpa, a thousand cycles of yugas, the pralaya does not stop.

It rains on, endlessly, torrents pouring down by night and day in the unnatural light; until, the worlds dissolve in those tidal waters and the seven suns are extinguished in the sky. The loftiest world, Bhuvarloka on high, is flooded and a watery night falls over all of creation. Still those rains do not stop; they pour on for a hundred years without pause.

At last, the precious waters have swollen into the realm of the Sapta rishi and the ocean covers everything. It is upon this infinite sea that a pipal leaf floats, my princes and the Lord of the kalpa, the Blue Infant who sucks on his toe, lies on that singular, resplendent leaf. From his mouth, issue great winds to blow away the clouds of the pralaya. For a hundred years, these winds blow before the clouds are all scattered.

Then, Hari is Narayana, lying upon his eternal serpent-bed, Anantasayanam, as both Vishnu and Brahma who lies in the golden lotus that sprouts from Vishnu’s navel. Both sleep for as long as Brahma’s night lasts, out on that ocean of hardly a ripple. At the end of a thousand chaturyugas, Brahma stirs again. Once more, he pours forth Creation.”

Krishna fetched a contented sigh when Markandeya finished. He breathed, “Ah, good Rishi, you are indeed a wonderful pauranika. Why, I would even say you are my mother Yasodha’s equal!”

Sahadeva said, “Tell us more, Muni. Your Purana enchants us.”

“Yes, do,” Krishna said. “How I love these old stories.” His tone was fathomless.

They stayed up almost until dawn, while the rishi Markandeya told them a score of tales of the oldest times. About all the yugas he told them, of Dundhumara, of Kuvalaswa and of the rishi Angirasa. About Agni, Markandeya told them and the Fire God’s love for Svaha. Of the first war in heaven, he spoke: when Soma the Moon abducted Brihaspati’s wife, Tara and the Devas and the Asuras fought. He described other wars also, vividly, the churning of the sea for amrita and the Incarnations of the Lord Vishnu.

He told them about the Asura Taraka and the strange boon he had from Brahma: that only a son born to ascetic Siva, the Mahayogin, could kill him. He described the birth of Parvati, who was once Sati, who killed herself; how she grew in her father Himavan’s palace; how Siva came to a nearby tapovana and was deceived by Kama into love. How Siva made Kama ashes. Of the wedding of Siva and Parvati, Markandeya told and the birth of Karttikeya, child of wonder, in the bank of sara grasses; and how that child slew Tarakasura on a fateful seashore.

That was on the first night. Finally, Markandeya yawned. “I think we should stop for tonight. Let us resume tomorrow, when the story-teller and his listeners are fresh.”

So they turned in, their minds alight with visions. Such dreams they dreamt that night, the Pandava princes, dreams they would remember nothing of, except that they were splendorous.

TWENTY-EIGHT THE FOOLISH BRAHMANA
 

For a month, Markandeya remained in the asrama at Kamyaka. Every night, after the evening meal, Krishna and the Pandavas sat eagerly around the muni and voyaged with him on luminous adventures in the magic ship of his Purana. The days and nights flowed swiftly by, like the waters of a river, unnoticed.

Then, Markandeya left them, saying he must return to his tapasya. After just a few days more, Krishna also said it was time he went back to Dwaraka. Sadly, Yudhishtira and his brothers bade farewell to their dark cousin. Satyabhama and Draupadi had grown as close as sisters, with Satyabhama telling Draupadi about life in exotic Dwaraka and the exploits of the blue master of the ocean-city. And Panchali told Satyabhama about the mountains, about Badarikasrama and Arjuna’s journey to Devaloka.

Finally, the moment of parting came. Embracing Krishna, Yudhishtira whispered, “When you are with us it seems as if our exile is heaven. But when you leave, we can hardly bear it.”

Krishna took his cousin’s hand and said gently, “Great events are near, Yudhishtira, we must prepare for them. Anyway, I never leave but only seem to, because my heart is always here with you.”

He turned and left them quickly, before he, too, was overcome.

Legion were the brahmanas that came and went from the Pandavas’ asrama. They came in concern for the future of the world. Already, in the hearts of distant forests, rishis sensitive to the spirit felt the effects of Duryodhana’s sinister rule. It was they, in their dhyana, who first grew aware of any influence that arose in the world, whether of darkness or light.

Now they had clear sense of the rising tide of evil in Hastinapura, where Duryodhana, who was king in all but name, had inveigled his own trusted courtiers into every position of power. These were ruthless men, most often chosen by Shakuni: a very different breed from the men of dharma who had ruled the Kuru kingdom in the past. Duryodhana’s murderous coterie wielded increasing power and the only virtue their master expected from them was unquestioning, sycophantic loyalty, which he bought with lavish gifts of land, wealth and position and with fear.

Most of the rishis and brahmanas who came to visit Yudhishtira in the Kamyaka vana were wise men and genuinely concerned about the future. But not all the fingers on a hand are the same and inevitably, some fools came with the sage.

One foolish brahmana, who had enjoyed the Pandavas’ hospitality for a week, arrived in Dhritarashtra’s sabha. He hoped to turn what he had seen and heard there to his advantage and elicit some reward from the Kuru king for the information he had to offer. This brahmana was a garrulous man, fond of his own voice and of embellishing the truth with his fancies.

When Dhritarashtra heard of his arrival in Hastinapura, he sent for him. When the brahmana came to the sabha, the blind king said, “We hear you visited our nephews in the Kamyaka vana. Tell us about them, my friend.”

The man needed no urging. “Lord of the earth, I have just come from the Kamyaka aranya, where the sons of Pandu made me welcome. But those princes and their Draupadi are in a pitiful condition: royal kshatriyas and living in a hut! I fear they are full of bitterness.”

The brahmana held forth on how miserable the Pandavas were, how they burned for revenge. Lowering his voice, he said, “But they have not been in the Kamyaka vana all this while.”

Dhritarashtra had already heard about his nephews’ tirtha-yatra: a muted account from a wiser person than this man. The king wanted to encourage the foolish brahmana into telling him all he knew. He said, “Really, O Muni? Have they been to Indraprastha, perhaps? And broken the conditions of their exile?”

“My lord, they have not broken the conditions of their exile. But they have been on a pilgrimage to the holiest tirthas in the land: to purify themselves for war!”

Dhritarashtra showed no emotion, but waited for him to continue. The man, who had never before had the chance to address a royal sabha, was happy to do so. He described the Pandavas’ tirtha-yatra at length and told how they arrived at Badarikasrama. He spoke as if he had been with them on their pilgrimage, whereas, in fact, whatever he knew was gleaned from the munis that had actually gone with Yudhishtira.

After describing the tirtha-yatra in detail, many of which were out of his imagination, he paused and looked grandly around him. Then, he said in a whisper, “But, my lord, Arjuna was not with his brothers on their pilgrimage.”

Pretending to be mystified, Dhritarashtra asked, “Where was he then?”

The brahmana began to fairly babble. “Didn’t you know about Arjuna’s journey into the mountains?”

Dhritarashtra leaned forward in his throne and breathed, “No, most knowing one. Tell us.”

The man launched into an account of Arjuna’s tapasya in the mountains: how Siva came to him as a hunter and gave him the Paasupatastra; confirming what Dhritarashtra had already heard from his spies. Warming to his tale, the brahmana moved on to an excited description of how the Lokapalas had given the Pandava their astras and how Indra sent his vimana to fetch his son to Amravati.

The truth was that, while this witless fellow had been in the Kamyaka vana, a certain Dark One was there as well. Krishna had fed the brahmana every tidbit he knew about Arjuna’s encounter with Siva and those of his stay in Amravati. Krishna had sworn the brahmana to secrecy, knowing he would take his tale to Hastinapura, as soon as he could.

Now, in the court of the blind king, Arjuna’s adventures in Devaloka were vividly recounted, with many trimmings. Of course, Krishna had said nothing about the curse of Urvashi; he had warned the Pandavas, also, that was best kept to themselves. Dhritarashtra heard everything he would have least wanted to: how Arjuna received the Vajra from Indra, how he killed the Nivatakavachas and the Kaalakeyas; and nothing that might prove useful to him.

Finally, Dhritarashtra rewarded the brahmana with a purse of gold, somewhat less generous than the man had hoped for and had him shown out of the palace. The king was panicstricken. “Nemesis flies nearer every day. My brother’s sons, who slept on beds of down, spend their nights lying on bare earth. We shall not escape punishment for what we have done.”

He fell silent, then said as if to himself, “Now Arjuna is a master of the devastras and he watches his brothers suffer and Draupadi suffer. How will he forget what Dusasana and Duryodhana did to her in this sabha? While we sat by and let it happen. Ah, we shall not escape with our lives; not I, not my sons.”

Again, he fell quiet, chewing his lip. Then he said, “It is foolish to think they will forget even a moment of what happened. It is they who have suffered, not we and they will have revenge. How Bheema must smolder. He will blow like a storm when he comes to kill us. How will we resist them, when they have dharma on their side? Oh, I was so foolish, when I gave in to Duryodhana. Now we will pay for my weakness.”

Shakuni was in the court and heard all this. Slipping out, he took word of it to Duryodhana. That prince cried, “My own father! And this is how he speaks in the open sabha. Ah, he is such a coward.”

Shakuni said, “You are Lord of the earth. The kings of the world are all loyal to you. May your cousins never come back.”

Karna was there. He said, “Indeed, you are Lord of the earth now. Your enemies live in the jungle like wild beasts, with as much honor as animals!”

Duryodhana was still tense. Then Karna cried, “I have an idea, my prince. Would you hear it?”

Duryodhana paused his restless pacing and said dully, “Tell me.”

“Let us go to the Kamyaka vana and feast our eyes on the Pandavas. Who is a happier man than he who can gloat over his enemies’ adversity, while he himself prospers? Won’t it make you glad to see Yudhishtira, his brothers and the arrogant Draupadi shorn of their pride? They, who were masters of the world, are beggars in the jungle now.

You will see the anguish on their faces. You will see them try to hide what they feel, but they will not be able to. Come, Duryodhana, seeing your cousins will restore your spirits.”

A dark smile touched Duryodhana’s lips. Shakuni was beaming in approval of Karna’s plan. He said, “Surely, nothing is sweeter than seeing one’s enemy in his worst moment. The experience is as delectable as the birth of a son, or finding a treasure.”

Karna said, “Make your wives put on their finery. Let them deck themselves in their costliest ornaments and take them to the Kamyaka, where Draupadi wears valkala. She is no sannyasin. Let every diamond on your women’s bodies send a shaft of fire into Panchali’s proud heart. Let her rue the day she mocked you.”

Duryodhana said, “I would love nothing better than to see Bheema and Arjuna clad in the barks of trees and the haughty empress of the Mayaa sabha as queen of a hut of logs. I long to see the look in her eyes, when she sees my wives wearing silks and ornaments, while she herself is as poor as a beast of the jungle.”

“What stops you then, Duryodhana?” cried Karna.

“My father would never permit it. You heard what he said in the sabha. He is full of fear; he will not allow us the pleasure of gloating. Besides, Bheeshma must be persuaded as well.”

Karna said, “Give me this night to devise a plan. By tomorrow morning, I will come to you with a way to convince the king.”

But Karna came back the same night. Shakuni and a man who seemed to be a cowherd were with him. Karna said, “I have a plan and it is so simple we should have thought of it at once.”

“Tell me,” said Duryodhana, bringing them into his apartment and pouring some wine.

Shakuni said, “This is our friend Samanga, the cowherd. He will persuade your father to let us go to the Dwaitavana, from where the Kamyaka is near enough.”

Duryodhana looked at them, unbelievingly. “Is this a joke, Karna?”

“Not at all,” replied his friend.

The next morning, in court, Samanga presented himself before the king. He was careful to arrive on his own. Shakuni, Karna and Duryodhana were already in the sabha and showed no sign they knew the cowherd. Came the hour for petitions and Samanga rose and said, “My lord, the time has come for branding the cattle in Dwaitavana. You must send someone you trust, so the counting can be done quickly.”

Now Shakuni said, “The hunting season is upon us, my lord. Let the Kuru princes go to the forest to help count the cattle and to hunt deer as well.”

Dhritarashtra turned his blind face to where he knew Duryodhana was sitting. His son said, “The weather is perfect and I am ready to go on a ghosha-yatra.”

Dhritarashtra was thoughtful for a moment. Slowly, he said, “It is a good idea; but I have heard the Pandavas have their asrama close to our cattle in Dwaitavana. I am afraid to let you anywhere near them. They live in poverty and sorrow; there is no telling what might happen, if you encounter them in the jungle.” He lowered his voice. “Arjuna is a master of the devastras now. No, it is better we send someone else.”

Shakuni said, “My lord, the sons of Pandu are noble; they will never break their word. Otherwise, they would already have attacked us here in Hastinapura. Besides, we will stay clear of them, so there can be no danger.”

Duryodhana said, “We will take an army with us if you are anxious. But I feel the need to get away from the city, to be out in the wilds, to hunt and relax myself.”

Reluctantly, Dhritarashtra gave them permission to go to the Dwaitavana.