THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (34 page)

SIXTY THE HOLY YATI
 

The next instant, Krishna had vanished and Arjuna couldn’t fathom how he had gone. Shaking his head, he crept down to the cave, which lay below him and round a bend in the path to the little temple. Unobserved, he settled himself just within the cave-mouth, crossing his legs in the lotus posture. He held his trident in his hand, shut his eyes and, apparently, he was lost in dhyana.

Beyond the bend in the path, the feast was underway; but soon, Balarama came down the trail alone. He saw the yati and ran to him with a cry.

‘Swami!’

The yati sat motionless and it seemed, unaware of Balarama. Krishna’s brother stood silently before the marvelously wild-looking yati. He saw how handsome the young hermit was, his body ash-smeared and bright with tapasya, years of it no doubt. His hair was tangled and unkempt and his beard hung down over his chest. Though masked with ashes, his face was noble and serene. Balarama stood rapt, a worshipful smile on his lips.

Kritavarman, Samba, Pradyumna, Gada and some others came down the path, calling Balarama’s name. He turned and raised his finger to his lips: couldn’t they see the yati was in deep meditation? They, too, gathered curiously round the ascetic.

For a while, the tapasvin did not stir, though inwardly Arjuna trembled lest any of his cousins recognized him: not the youngsters but Gada, Balarama himself, or one of the others who had studied archery with Drona in Hastinapura. In a while, he realized none of them had, because of the beard and the ashes.

Arjuna sniffed the air to show he had become aware of them. He sighed, as if he was emerging from samadhi, the soul’s trance. He fluttered open his eyes and smiled slightly at the Yadavas. In fact, he longed to laugh in their faces, but a flaring thought of Subhadra prevented him from folly.

With a cry, Balarama prostrated himself at the yati’s feet.

“Welcome to Anarta, holy one! We are blessed that you have come.”

Arjuna only smiled, as beatifically as he could and prayed none of them would see through his disguise. Gada was already staring at him. Yet, when Balarama rose after the yati had blessed him, Gada and, one by one, all the other Yadavas prostrated themselves before him. Arjuna blessed them all, giving each one a pinch of ash he scraped off his skin.

Seized with reverence and certain he had seen the yati before in his dreams, Balarama cried, “May we ask from whence your holiness has come? And how long you intend to stay?”

Arjuna gave a loud sigh: of relief, but it passed for a sigh of regret at being disturbed. The Yadavas quailed a little. The yatis, especially the Sivabhaktas among them, were known for the virulence of their tempers and their devastating curses. Fortunately, this one seemed amiable.

He now spoke in a rough voice. “I have traveled over the world. I have seen countless tirthas and never have I spent more than three nights at any of them, even the holiest. Now the monsoon is here. Clouds for tonight’s downpour already fill the horizon. I fear I will not be able to move on until the rains have passed. But I shall be happy on Raivataka; four months of rain will pass like four days, while I sit in dhyana.”

Just then, someone else came round the bend in the path, whistling like a tree full of birds. It was perfect timing. Balarama cried, “Look Krishna, the holy one has come to us on the day of our feast!”

“And not a cloud in the sky, since he came,” murmured Krishna, with a grin.

“Take his blessing!” hissed his older brother.

Krishna touched the yati’s feet and received his pinch of ashes. Balarama said reverently, “He has ranged the world before he came to us. He means to spend the monsoon on Raivataka, but I am not happy leaving him here. Water will flow into the cave and even a bolt of lightning may fall on him, as he sits in samadhi. You are always the bright one, Krishna; what shall we do?”

Willing himself not to laugh, Krishna said, “Who am I to give my older brother advice on a religious matter? You must decide what we must do with the swami.”

Balarama swelled up and said quickly, “I have it! Virgins should serve holy men: it brings them noble husbands later. Let the yati stay in Subhadra’s garden and let her see to his needs till the rains last.”

To Arjuna’s amazement, Krishna stiffened, whispered to Balarama, “A word in private please, brother,” and led him outside.

“What is it, Krishna?” Balarama was impatient to install the yati in Subhadra’s garden.

“Is it safe to have the stranger living near our sister? Remember we know nothing about him. He is a bit smooth-tongued for my liking. His body is too soft to have known too much penance.” Krishna shook his head doubtfully, “Subhadra is young and the yati is just the sort to impress her. But of course, you have already thought of that.”

Balarama was livid, exactly as Krishna knew he would be. “How dare you think of the yati with such wretched suspicion? Are you blind, Krishna? The light of the atman shines from him and you are worried about Subhadra. I should make you beg his forgiveness. But I will let it pass if you take him to our sister’s palace and tell her to look after him.”

Now the other Yadavas came out to the brothers. Krishna turned to them, smiling. “Good works should never be delayed! Come with me Pradyumna and you, Gada. Let us take the holy one to Subhadra.”

He went and bowed to the yati again and, with a wink, said, “Swami, I beg you, come with me to my sister’s garden. We have decided you must stay there until the monsoon passes. I am sure she will become devoted to your worship and see to all your needs, whatever they are. If you are pleased with her, only give her a vara at the end of your stay.”

Vara, of course, meant both boon and husband; but none of the Yadavas dreamt Krishna referred to the second meaning. Pradyumna and Gada went down the Raivataka with Krishna and the yati and then in their chariots to Dwaraka. His first sight of Dwaraka by the afternoon sun transfixed Arjuna: not even Indraprastha could compare with it.

Like the dream of a God, the ocean-city rose from the waves, her mansions shining, her terraces and ramparts reaching for the sky. Her outer walls were smooth as glass, like a hallucination by the setting sun. The yati caught his breath audibly and the Yadavas glowed with pride.

Krishna asked, “Do you like our city, my lord Yati?”

The yati replied softly, “Indeed, my son, yours is the most beautiful city I have seen in all my wanderings. Why, it seems Indra’s Amravati has fallen out of Devaloka and into the sea of Bharata.”

“I hope you will be happy in Dwaraka.”

“We shall see what fate has in store for me.”

At the edge of the sea a gleaming bridge rose out of the waves, a yojana long and made, it seemed, of fine crystal; but the chariots passed lightly over it and into wondrous Dwaraka. As they rode through the tall gates, Arjuna felt he was truly on the inside of a dream. More dreamlike than Indraprastha’s, even, were the streets and stately homes here and the people were all as majestic as the kshatriyas with whom he rode. They waved as the chariots sped along toward Krishna’s palace, which by itself was another city within Dwaraka. Here, his legendary harem of a thousand queens was housed, each one in a different palace and each, it was rumored, with her very own Krishna!

The yati was overwhelmed, but kept his composure. When they arrived at the Blue God’s palace, Pradyumna and Gada left Arjuna with Krishna, who led him up white marble steps and down wonderful passages. At his apartment, Krishna instructed his guards that under no circumstances were the yati and he to be disturbed.

Entering and arriving at the polished door to an inner chamber, Krishna knocked. Two bewitching women opened that door. Krishna drew Arjuna inside, to the amazement of Satyabhama and Rukmini: he had never brought a sannyasi into their apartment before. He tended to keep all holy men at a distance saying that most of them were common rogues, these days. Now, he not only brought this utterly wild-looking yati right in, but shut the door after him. Krishna stood beaming, as if he had done something quite special.

In his teasing way, he said to his wives, “Go on, bow to the swami. Can’t you see what a great man he is? He has roamed all the sea-girt earth before coming to Dwaraka and you don’t even care to take his blessing?”

Knowing there was some mischief afoot, but helpless, Satyabhama and Rukmini prostrated themselves at the yati’s feet. He grunted and, scraping two pinches of ash from his chest gave it to them.

Krishna broke into peals of laughter. He flung his arms round Arjuna and cried, “Ah, women, women! Don’t you know who this is? You have heard so much about him: from me, from all the Vrishnis who have been Drona’s disciples. Why, his name is a legend in Dwaraka and you still don’t…”

Both lovely queens cried together, “Arjuna! Welcome to Dwaraka!”

Rukmini asked, “But why the yati’s attire, Arjuna? Why do you hide your handsome face with a beard and ashes?”

Krishna said, “The good yati has fallen in love with our sister Subhadra and wants to win her hand in secret. So, we will take his holiness to her private garden and she shall attend to his every need, just as my brother Balarama wants her to.”

The women laughed, excited at the thought. Satyabhama said, “You will find no better brother-in-law in all Bharatavarsha!”

“I could not agree more: which is why, my good queens, we must take our swami to Subhadra immediately and leave him in her tender care so he can work his charm on her. Our cousin has no time for the likes of us; his heart is elsewhere and we must convey him thence.”

Arjuna was the solemn yati again, as Krishna led him through the amazing passages once more, some winding their way through the palace itself and some, elegantly covered, through shady gardens under the sun. At last, they arrived at a secluded quarter of the queens’ harem and a mansion that stood apart.

Krishna gave Arjuna a moment to compose himself, before he knocked on the ornate door to Subhadra’s palace and walked in with a nervous yati in tow. Soon, Subhadra herself stood before them, even more ravishing so near. Arjuna’s heart drummed out of control and the yati had lost his voice.

At first, Subhadra saw only Krishna and cried gaily, “Well, this is a surprise! To what do I owe this rare pleasure?”

Krishna stood aside, so she saw the yati behind him. Subhadra did not know why, but her heart gave a lurch, as the holy man stared at her so strangely. Krishna allowed that moment to sink in and it seemed the yati and the princess were locked into each other’s gazes and could not stop staring.

Krishna coughed softly. “Swami, this is my sister. Subhadra, the yati has roamed all the earth and been gracious enough to accept our hospitality for as long as the rains last. Balarama told me to bring him to you; he asks you to look after his every need, to anticipate them if you can. Our brother says that he has never met anyone as holy as his worship.”

For once, the feisty Subhadra seemed to have lost her tongue. She still stood staring at the yati, who did not take his eyes from the princess’ face. Finally, Subhadra said, “Of course I will look after the holy one. Come, Swami, let me show you to my garden where you can stay. A part of it is roofed and the rain will not bother you.”

Krishna said, “We are honored that you will remain in our city. Don’t be shy, my lord; ask Subhadra for whatever you want and she will be happy to give it to you.”

Arjuna gave a start at Krishna’s tone and the images it conjured in his lovesick mind. Folding his hands to the yati, with a cheery wave at Subhadra, Krishna went off leaving them together.

SIXTY-ONE THE YATI AND THE PRINCESS
 

The days of this monsoon were the happiest Arjuna had known in a long time. True, Draupadi was his first love; yet, Panchali did not belong only to him, but his brothers as well. Arjuna had changed during his lonely journey through Bharatavarsha. It was the first time he had been apart from his brothers and his mother for so long. He had grown to become a man, his own man.

Subhadra found herself drawn powerfully to the yati; but he was an ascetic and sworn to brahmacharya. Any woman was an obstacle on his chosen path: she could only impede his progress. Yet, despite herself, Subhadra felt an impossible attraction for him.

She wanted to be with him, as much as she could; she told herself she was only carrying out her brothers’ instructions. If her heart beat faster than she had ever known it to, when she was near the yati, or when she caught him looking at her from across the garden with his intense eyes, that was her affair. She could not help herself and she was the only one who knew about it.

Did the yati know, or suspect, how she felt? She could not tell; but she noticed that, whenever she was in the garden, he did not meditate but turned his gaze on her. Once or twice, she fancied he stared at her in a most wanton manner; but then, she knew better.

At first, crowds of people would come to Subhadra’s garden to meet the yati. Balarama told everyone he saw to go and seek this sannyasi’s blessing. Arjuna grew annoyed at the lines that formed outside the princess’ palace. He complained to Krishna and the Dark One forbade any more visitors. He said the yati must have time for the tapasya for which he had come, which would bless them all if only they would leave him to it.

Uncannily, those first few days when the people came, real miracles did occur in Dwaraka: the sick were healed, the despondent regained cheer. Balarama said triumphantly to Krishna, “Didn’t I tell you at one look he was a holy man? And you were worried to leave him alone with Subhadra!”

When word of his own powers filtered back to Arjuna, he was puzzled. Then he realized the miracles must be Krishna’s doing. He was relieved when Krishna announced the yati had taken mowna, a vow of silence, to pray for the world.

Another name was renowned in Dwaraka, long before the yati arrived: the name of Arjuna the Pandava was a legend in the city of the Yadavas. In schools of archery, youngsters were told, “You must become as good as Arjuna.”

“If you are half the archer Arjuna is, you will be a great bowman.”

When children fought among themselves, they would puff up their chests and cry, “Not even Arjuna is as good as I am! What chance does a worm like you stand against me?”

When Yadava elders blessed their grandchildren, they would lay a hand on the young ones’ heads and say, “May you grow up to be like Arjuna.”

When a woman was expecting a child, the older women of the family would crack their knuckles against their heads, to ward off the evil eye and say, “May you have a son like Arjuna!”

It was in this city Subhadra had grown up and she had been infatuated with Arjuna ever since she could remember. When she was a little older, Krishna would tell her about their cousin: how noble he was and how lovable, because there was still a child in him though he was such a great kshatriya. Then, there was her cousin Gada who knew Arjuna since he was a boy. Gada painted the Pandava in the most romantic colors. This was not out of any sense of mischief: Gada implicitly believed these cousins of his were born for each other.

Rukmini of Vidarbha had fallen in love with Krishna before she ever laid eyes on him. So it was with Subhadra: she had given her heart to Arjuna. Since she was a girl, she would make it a point to meet any traveler from the north, at first from Hastinapura and later from Indraprastha. She would press them for any scraps she could glean about her secret flame. She knew the Pandavas had married Draupadi; but this only excited her strangely and she loved Arjuna even more. She would lie awake at night, tormenting herself with visions of the dark Panchali in his arms. It was delicious torment.

So now, when she felt these powerful stirrings whenever she was near the mysterious yati, Subhadra was dismayed. After all, her heart had been given long ago, to Arjuna. She told herself her frustrated love for Arjuna had turned into a spiritual inclination. If she could not have the Pandava, she would renounce the world: hence, her attraction for the yati.

One day she sat with the yati, in a companionable silence. She had just brought him his morning meal and she sat daydreaming of Arjuna. She had developed this queer habit since the yati came to her garden; whenever she was with him, she found her mind turned ineluctably to thoughts of Arjuna.

Suddenly, she realized why this was so: she had begun to impose the image of the yati onto her fantasies of Arjuna! She gave a shiver when she caught herself doing this. Then, it struck her, ‘
What if he is Arjuna
?’

Near her the yati sat very still, breathing evenly, smiling slightly from a deep wellbeing that might have been mistaken for spiritual bliss. In fact, he was surreptitiously inhaling the delicate scent of her body and was intoxicated with it. She was glad that, today, he had not turned his burning gaze on her; then, she would grow confused and breathless and excuse herself quickly. This morning the yati was serene and she could gaze comfortably at him out of the tail of her eye.

She gazed and she thought, ‘All the descriptions I’ve heard of Arjuna fit the yati perfectly, except for the beard and the jata.’

She tried to imagine him without the beard and jata: he could well be Arjuna! Subhadra looked at the yati’s chest. It was a warrior’s deep chest and his arms were muscled, too strong to be a brahmana’s arms. She looked raptly at him, the conviction growing on her that he was Arjuna; which would explain so much, especially her own feelings. His shawl slipped from his shoulders and she almost cried out when she saw abrasions not just on one arm, but on both: marks of a bowstring! Subhadra knew Arjuna was ambidextrous.

Then, she told herself angrily, ‘Arjuna is no sannyasi! I am losing my mind over this yati. He cannot be Arjuna, however much I would like him to.’

Yet, the nagging suspicions, or hope, persisted. One day, unable to bear it any more, she decided to have this thing out with the disturbing hermit.

“Swami, they say you have traveled the length and breadth of Bharatavarsha. Tell me about some of the places you saw, specially the tirthas.”

It was a beginning. In good time, she would steer the conversation round to the matter in her heart. As Krishna had warned Balarama, the yati was an eloquent man. He was happy to describe his wanderings through the land of Bharata, dwelling on each tirtha he had visited and the journey to it. At least, she was near him while he kept this up.

It became a habit with both of them: after the morning meal, Subhadra sat with the yati and he described every outlandish place in which he had been. She grew more absorbed than ever in the yati. Occasionally, she would ask him a probing question and he would answer with a smile. He did not realize where this was leading, until one morning, out of the blue she asked, “My lord, have you ever been to Indraprastha?”

He gave a slight start. “I have been in marvelous Indraprastha.”

“Do you know the king Yudhishtira and his mother? Kunti Devi is our aunt and the Pandavas are our cousins.”

“Indeed, I know them well,” said the yati quietly.

Not looking at him, Subhadra said, “I hear my cousin Arjuna is on a pilgrimage not unlike your own. Have you perhaps encountered him on your travels?”

The yati seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then he turned to face her. “I know Arjuna. If you are curious about him, I can tell you where he is at this moment and why.”

He was staring at her and she felt weak. In a low voice, she asked, “Where is he?”

For another interminable moment, the yati waited, still staring as if he would drink her into his soul with his eyes. Then, he whispered, “Arjuna has fallen in love with the most beautiful woman in the world and he has disguised himself as a yati to be near her.”

Subhadra began to tremble. He leaned forward quickly and took her hand. “Haven’t you known me yet, my love? I am Arjuna. Subhadra, marry me! I can’t live without you.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her like fire. With a cry, she jumped up and fled.

From that day, Subhadra fell ill. She stayed in her bed, burning with fever. She was listless and anxious, as if she had a deep shock, or as if she stood at some yawning threshold of her life and was terrified to cross it.

When the princess no longer came out to see him in the garden, Arjuna confessed to Krishna what had happened. Krishna felt it was best if he did not meet her for some time. He consoled the Pandava, saying all the signs were favorable: Subhadra also certainly loved him, but he must be patient for a few days.

The next day, Krishna set a subtle plan in motion. He sent Rukmini to meet Arjuna. When the yati saw a woman’s figure approaching him across the cloistered garden, he thought it was Subhadra. He jumped up and ran to her; his face fell when Rukmini uncovered her head.

Rukmini laughed. “I am sorry to disappoint you, holy one! I have come to tell you that Subhadra is unwell and wastes from a mysterious illness that no physician in Dwaraka can fathom. Perhaps, a yati has the remedy for my sister-in-law’s illness? Krishna thinks you do.”

A teasing smile never left her face and poor Arjuna felt acutely embarrassed.

Now she said more seriously, “Krishna asks you to be ready to abduct our Subhadra. He will let you know when.” She flashed another smile. “I didn’t know that holy yatis kidnapped young women!”

And Rukmini left Arjuna alone and terribly restless.